Hello darkness my old friend
I've come to talk with you again
Because the vision softly creeping
Left it's seeds when I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remain
Within the sound of silence
In restless dreams I walk alone
Narrow streets of cobble stone
Nearth the halo of a street lamp
I turned my collar to the collar and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of neon light
That split the night
And touched the sound of silence
And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people may be more
People talk without speaking
People heared without listening
People writing song that voices never shared
No-one dare
Distarb the sound of silence
Fools, - said I, - you do not know
Silence like the cancer grows
Hear my words that I might teash you
Take my arms that I might reach you
But my words
.....
.....
And the people bowed and prayed
To the neon God they made
And the sign flashed out it's warning
In the words that I was forming
And the sign said, - the words of the prophets
are written on subway walls
And tenement halls
And whisper in the sounds of silence
Fog's rolling in off the East River bank.
Like a shroud, in covers Bleeker street,
Fills the alleys where men sleep,
Hides the shepherd from the sheep.
Voices leaking from a safe,
Smiling places, try to understand;
I saw a shadow touch a shadow's hand
On Bleeker Street.
A poet reads his crooked rhyme,
Holy, holy is his sacrament,
Thirty dollars pays your rent
On Bleeker Street.
I heard a church bell softly chime
In melody sustaning,
It's a long road to Canaan
On Bleeker Street.
I'd rather be a sparrow than a snail.
Yes I would, If I could I surely would.
I'd rather be a hammer than a nail.
Yes I would, If I only could I surely would.
Someday I'd like to sail away
Like a swan that's here and gone
A man gets tied up to the ground,
He gives the world its saddest sound,
its saddest sound
I'd rather be a forest than a street.
Yes I would, If I could I surely would.
I'd rather feel the earth beneath my feet.
Yes I would, If I only could I surely would.
á Simple Desultory PhillipiÓ
I been Norman Maliered, Maxwell Taylored,
I been John O'Hara'd McNamara'd,
I been Rolling Stoned and Beatled 'till I'm blind,
I been Ayn Randed, nearly branded communist,
'Cause I'm left-handed,
That's the hand I use,
Well, never mind!
I been Phil Spectored, resurrected,
I been Lou Adlered, Barry Sadlered,
Well, I paid all the dues that I want to pay,
And I learned the truth from Lenny Bruce,
And all my wealth won't buy me health,
So I smoke a pint of tea a day.
I knew a man, his brain so small,
He couldn't think of nothin' at all,
He's not the same as you or me,
He doesn't dig poetry,
He's so unhip that when you say Dylan,
He thinks you're talking about Dylan Thomas,
Whoever he was.
THe man ain't got no culture,
but it's alright ma,
everybody must get stoned.
I been Mick Jaggered, sliver daggered,
Andy Warhol, won't you please come home?
I been mothered, fathered, aunt and uncled,
been Roy Haleed and Art Garfunkeled,
I just discovered,
Somebody's tapping my phone.
Last-modified: Tue, 16 Apr 1996 09:15:39 GMT