"There must be some kind of way out of here,"
Said the joker to the thief,
"There's too much confusion,
I can't get no relief.
Businessman they drink my wine,
Plowman dig my earth
None will level on the line, nobody offered his word, hey"
"No reason to get excited,"
The thief, he kindly spoke
"There are many here among us
Who feel that life is but a joke
But you and I, we've been through that
And this is not our fate
So let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late"
All along the watchtower
Princes kept the view
While all the women came and went
Barefoot servants, too
Outside in the cold distance
A wildcat did growl
Two riders were approaching
And the wind began to howl
*buisness man there, drink my wine,
Come and take my herb.
I have always liked this song. I love Bob Dillion and not because I am a poet and suppose to like Bob Dillion. I think he is a master with language.
What made me think of this song for today's feature is my editor played it on Thursday at the Read A Loud. As the song filled the room, I watched a crowd growing in the Oval. I am not sure what the protest was all about, but the crowd grew and clearly speakers would speaking.
I think this was not a coincidence. There is great power in our words. Poets, writers, thinkers.
Freedom of the press and our ability to gather and share our words. That is the bed rock of liberty. Sadly I think that is fading quickly from view.