The walls of pride are high and wide, can't see over to the other side.

Popular music had never had lyrical sophistication of this type [like Bob Dylan]; wit, to be sure, but "Darkness at the break of noon/Shadows even the silver spoon/The handmade blade, the child's balloon/Eclipses both the sun and moon/To understand you know too soon/ There is no sense in trying"? No.

Everything that I'm saying You can say it just as good

There ought to be a law about you coming around.

Now all the criminals in their suits and ties are free to drink martinis and watch the sunrise

They can't hurt me. Sure, they can crush you and kill you. They can lay you out on 42nd and Broadway and put hoses on you and flush you in the sewers and put you on the subway and carry you out to Coney island and bury you on the Ferris wheel. But I refuse to sit here and worry about dying.

One who sings with his tongue on fire, gargles in the rat race choir.