As Newport waits to hear their troubadour
But Dylan isn't bringing it back home
A cuban heel grinds ash into the floor
His shades betray the mercury in his stare
A cigarette is tucked behind his ear
In leather coat and tousled head of hair
The corners of his mouth curled in a sneer
A stratocaster slung across his frame
His tongue is crossed with metaphor and rhyme
Burroughs, Beatles, beatniks catch the flame
Freewheelin, swirling, spinning out of time
The answers in the wind have all been blown
In Greenwich Village bars he's paid his dues
To dust bowl, Guthrie, civil rights and Joan
Tonight they're gonna get Bob Dylan's blues
The times they have a changed in recent years
Now psychedelic smoke rings intertwined
With Rickenbacker riffs that flood his ears
Absurdity and rock and roll combined
As Maggie's farm is tearing up the place
There's discord, disconnection with the crowd
The boos and heckles howling in his face
So turns it up and plays it fuckin' loud
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