Mama, put my guns in the ground, I can't shoot them anymore. That long black cloud is coming down.

Yesterday is just a memory.

The enemy is subtle, how be it we are so deceived, when truth's in our hearts and we still don't believe.

You might be a rock and roll addict prancing on the stage. You might have drugs at your command, women in a cage.

Last night I danced with a stranger, but she just reminded me you were the one.

The rifleman's stalking the sick and the lame, preacherman seeks the same, who'll get there first is uncertain.

Bob has never written a bad song. Bob Dylan is a genius.