(no subject)
You be Bob Marley and I’ll be Bob Dylan. You can say everything's gonna be all right and in the end I’ll whisper don’t think twice it’s all right. And maybe if we laugh hard enough At the Hop won’t seem so right. We can spend the next four years with our backs stretched, hands entangled on your kitchen floor. But I don’t think Devendra Banhart would marry our collection of lost causes. So I didn’t find William Burroughs at the West End, but who told you I was feeling sorry for myself? We could have our whole lives laid out with our makeshift romance and fitted lyrics. Just don’t tell me when I’m fifty-five that Bob Marley lied and Bob Dylan was never listening.