Last Thoughts On Woody Gutherie Lyrics - Bob Dylan

When yer head gets twisted and yer mind grows numb 

When you think you're too old, too young, too smart or too dumb 

When yer laggin' behind an' losin' yer pace 

In a slow-motion crawl of life's busy race 

No matter what yer doing if you start givin' up 

If the wine don't come to the top of yer cup 

If the wind's got you sideways with with one hand holdin' on 

And the other starts slipping and the feeling is gone 

And yer train engine fire needs a new spark to catch it 

And the wood's easy findin' but yer lazy to fetch it 

And yer sidewalk starts curlin' and the street gets too long 

And you start walkin' backwards though you know its wrong 

And lonesome comes up as down goes the day 

And tomorrow's mornin' seems so far away 

And you feel the reins from yer pony are slippin' 

And yer rope is a-slidin' 'cause yer hands are a-drippin' 

And yer sun-decked desert and evergreen valleys 

Turn to broken down slums and trash-can alleys 

And yer sky cries water and yer drain pipe's a-pourin' 

And the lightnin's a-flashing and the thunder's a-crashin' 

And the windows are rattlin' and breakin' and the roof tops a-shakin' 

And yer whole world's a-slammin' and bangin' 

And yer minutes of sun turn to hours of storm 

And to yourself you sometimes say 

"I never knew it was gonna be this way 

Why didn't they tell me the day I was born" 

And you start gettin' chills and yer jumping from sweat 

And you're lookin' for somethin' you ain't quite found yet 

And yer knee-deep in the dark water with yer hands in the air 

And the whole world's a-watchin' with a window peek stare 

And yer good gal leaves and she's long gone a-flying 

And yer heart feels sick like fish when they're fryin' 

And yer jackhammer falls from yer hand to yer feet 

And you need it badly but it lays on the street 

And yer bell's bangin' loudly but you can't hear its beat 

And you think yer ears might a been hurt 

Or yer eyes've turned filthy from the sight-blindin' dirt 

And you figured you failed in yesterdays rush 

When you were faked out an' fooled white facing a four flush 

And all the time you were holdin' three queens 

And it's makin you mad, it's makin' you mean 

Like in the middle of Life magazine 

Bouncin' around a pinball machine 

And there's something on yer mind you wanna be saying 

That somebody someplace oughta be hearin' 

But it's trapped on yer tongue and sealed in yer head 

And it bothers you badly when your layin' in bed 

And no matter how you try you just can't say it 

And yer scared to yer soul you just might forget it 

And yer eyes get swimmy from the tears in yer head 

And yer pillows of feathers turn to blankets of lead 

And the lion's mouth opens and yer staring at his teeth 

And his jaws start closin with you underneath 

And yer flat on your belly with yer hands tied behind 

And you wish you'd never taken that last detour sign 

And you say to yourself just what am I doin' 

On this road I'm walkin', on this trail I'm turnin' 

On this curve I'm hanging 

On this pathway I'm strolling, in the space I'm taking 

In this air I'm inhaling 

Am I mixed up too much, am I mixed up too hard 

Why am I walking, where am I running 

What am I saying, what am I knowing 

On this guitar I'm playing, on this banjo I'm frailin' 

On this mandolin I'm strummin', in the song I'm singin' 

In the tune I'm hummin', in the words I'm writin' 

In the words that I'm thinkin' 

In this ocean of hours I'm all the time drinkin' 

Who am I helping, what am I breaking 

What am I giving, what am I taking 

But you try with your whole soul best 

Never to think these thoughts and never to let 

Them kind of thoughts gain ground 

Or make yer heart pound 

But then again you know why they're around 

Just waiting for a chance to slip and drop down 

"Cause sometimes you hear'em when the night times comes creeping 

And you fear that they might catch you a-sleeping 

And you jump from yer bed, from yer last chapter of dreamin' 

And you can't remember for the best of yer thinking 

If that was you in the dream that was screaming 

And you know that it's something special you're needin' 

And you know that there's no drug that'll do for the healin' 

And no liquor in the land to stop yer brain from bleeding 

And you need something special 

Yeah, you need something special all right 

You need a fast flyin' train on a tornado track 

To shoot you someplace and shoot you back 

You need a cyclone wind on a stream engine howler 

That's been banging and booming and blowing forever 

That knows yer troubles a hundred times over 

You need a Greyhound bus that don't bar no race 

That won't laugh at yer looks 

Your voice or your face 

And by any number of bets in the book 

Will be rollin' long after the bubblegum craze 

You need something to open up a new door 

To show you something you seen before 

But overlooked a hundred times or more 

You need something to open your eyes 

You need something to make it known 

That it's you and no one else that owns 

That spot that yer standing, that space that you're sitting 

That the world ain't got you beat 

That it ain't got you licked 

It can't get you crazy no matter how many 

Times you might get kicked 

You need something special all right 

You need something special to give you hope 

But hope's just a word 

That maybe you said or maybe you heard 

On some windy corner 'round a wide-angled curve 

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But that's what you need man, and you need it bad 

And yer trouble is you know it too good 

"Cause you look an' you start getting the chills 

"Cause you can't find it on a dollar bill 

And it ain't on Macy's window sill 

And it ain't on no rich kid's road map 

And it ain't in no fat kid's fraternity house 

And it ain't made in no Hollywood wheat germ 

And it ain't on that dimlit stage 

With that half-wit comedian on it 

Ranting and raving and taking yer money 

And you thinks it's funny 

No you can't find it in no night club or no yacht club 

And it ain't in the seats of a supper club 

And sure as hell you're bound to tell 

That no matter how hard you rub 

You just ain't a-gonna find it on yer ticket stub 

No, and it ain't in the rumors people're tellin' you 

And it ain't in the pimple-lotion people are sellin' you 

And it ain't in no cardboard-box house 

Or down any movie star's blouse 

And you can't find it on the golf course 

And Uncle Remus can't tell you and neither can Santa Claus 

And it ain't in the cream puff hair-do or cotton candy clothes 

And it ain't in the dime store dummies or bubblegum goons 

And it ain't in the marshmallow noises of the chocolate cake voices 

That come knockin' and tappin' in Christmas wrappin' 

Sayin' ain't I pretty and ain't I cute and look at my skin 

Look at my skin shine, look at my skin glow 

Look at my skin laugh, look at my skin cry 

When you can't even sense if they got any insides 

These people so pretty in their ribbons and bows 

No you'll not now or no other day 

Find it on the doorsteps made out-a paper mache? 

And inside it the people made of molasses 

That every other day buy a new pair of sunglasses 

And it ain't in the fifty-star generals and flipped-out phonies 

Who'd turn yuh in for a tenth of a penny 

Who breathe and burp and bend and crack 

And before you can count from one to ten 

Do it all over again but this time behind yer back 

My friend 

The ones that wheel and deal and whirl and twirl 

And play games with each other in their sand-box world 

And you can't find it either in the no-talent fools 

That run around gallant 

And make all rules for the ones that got talent 

And it ain't in the ones that ain't got any talent but think they do 

And think they're foolin' you 

The ones who jump on the wagon 

Just for a while 'cause they know it's in style 

To get their kicks, get out of it quick 

And make all kinds of rnoney and chicks 

And you yell to yourself and you throw down yer hat 

Sayin', "Christ do I gotta be like that 

Ain't there no one here that knows where I'm at 

Ain't there no one here that knows how I feel 

Good God Almighty 

THAT STUFF AIN'T REAL" 

Photos 

No but that ain't yer game, it ain't even yer race 

You can't hear yer name, you can't see yer face 

You gotta look some other place 

And where do you look for this hope that yer seekin' 

Where do you look for this lamp that's a-burnin' 

Where do you look for this oil well gushin' 

Where do you look for this candle that's glowin' 

Where do you look for this hope that you know is there 

And out there somewhere 

And your feet can only walk down two kinds of roads 

Your eyes can only look through two kinds of windows 

Your nose can only smell two kinds of hallways 

You can touch and twist 

And turn two kinds of doorknobs 

You can either go to the church of your choice 

Or you can go to Brooklyn State Hospital 

You'll find God in the church of your choice 

You'll find Woody Guthrie in Brooklyn State Hospital 

And though it's only my opinion 

I may be right or wrong 

You'll find them both 

In the Grand Canyon 

At sundown