WHEN THEY MAKE
MY TOAST
I'll be out walking the streets.
If Bob Dylan were the Wizard of
Oz, then I could maybe understand:
fabricated bitch umbrella facade.
As it is, I just want to wonder if,
now, 47 years later, the same jerks
who gave him the honorary at Princeton
are not now maybe some like-cabalistic
bigwigs to the Nobel Committee so they
could do it again. When. You might not
much think of conspiracies and stuff, but
I do : underneath this magic-carpet ride
is a dangerous floor made only of lies.
No comments:
Post a Comment