Hobbes Deutsch, Jr.
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verities & balderdash

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You are not Alone, and it Gets Better

5/13/2017

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"Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me.
I'm not sleepy and there ain't no place I'm going to.
Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me.
In the jingle jangle morning I'll come following you.

"Though I know that evening's empire has returned into sand, vanished from my hand,  left me blindly here to stand, but still not sleeping.  My weariness amazes me.  I'm branded on my feet.  I have no one to meet, and the ancient empty street's too dead for dreaming.

"Take me on a trip upon your magic swirling ship.  My senses have been stripped, and my hands can't feel to grip, and my toes too numb to step.  Wait only for my boot heels to be wandering.  I'm ready to go anywhere.  I'm ready for the fade into my own parade.  Cast your dancing spell my way; I promise to go under it.

"Though you might hear laughing, spinning, swinging madly across the sun, it's not aimed at anyone.  It's just escaping on the run, and but for the sky there are no fences facing.  And if you hear vague traces of skipping reels of rhyme to your tambourine in time, it's just a ragged clown behind.  I wouldn't pay it any mind.  It's just a shadow you're seeing that he's chasing.

"Take me disappearing through the smoke rings of my mind, down the foggy ruins of time, far past the frozen leaves, the haunted frightened trees, out to the windy beach, far from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow.  Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky, with one hand waving free, silhouetted by the sea, circled by the circus sands, with all memory of fate driven deep beneath the waves.  Let me forget about today until tomorrow.

"Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me.
I'm not sleepy and there ain't no place I'm going to.
Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me.
In the jingle jangle morning I'll come following you."

-- Bob Dylan

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We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams;
wandering by lone sea-breakers, and sitting by desolate streams.
World losers and world forsak
ers, on whom the pale moon gleams.
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Arthur O'Shaughnessy
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