you tell me about politics

this that

you speak of rats.

---

geese. a world of peace

you stumble stammer

pound your fist

an’ i tell you there are no politics

you swear

tell me how much you care

---

you cheat the lunch counter man

out of a pack of cigarettes

an’ i tell you there are no politics

you tell me of goons’

graves. ginks an’ finks

an’ of what you’ve read

---

an’ how things should be

an’ what you’d do if . . .

an i say someone’s been

tamperin’ with your head

you jump

raise your voice

---

an’ gyrate yourself

t’ the tone of principles

your arm is raised

an’ i tell you there are no politics

in the afternoon you run

t’ keep appointments

---

with false lovers

an’ this leaves you

drained by nightfall

you ask me questions

an’ i say that every question

if it’s a truthful question

---

can be answered by askin’ it

you stomp

get mad

i say it’s got nothin’ t’ do with

gertrude stein

you turn your eyes

---

t’ the radio

an’ tell me what a

wasteland exists in television

you rant an’ rave

of poverty

your fingers crawl the walls

---

the screen door leaves black marks

across your nose

your breath remains on

window glass

bullfight posters hang crooked above your head

an’ the phone rings constantly

---

you tell me how much i’ve changed

as if that is all there is t’ say

out of the side of your mouth

while talkin’ on the wires

in a completely different

tone of voice

---

than you had a minute ago

when speakin’ t’ me about something else

i say what’s this about changes?

you say "let’s go get drunk"

light a cigarette

"an’ throw up on the world"

---

you go t’ your closet

mumblin’ about the phoniness of churches

an’ spastic national leaders

i say groovy but

also holy hollowness too

yes hollow holiness

---

an’ that some of my best friends

know people that go t’ church

you blow up

slam doors

say "can’t no one say nothin’ t’ you"

i say "what do You think?"

---

your face laughs

you say "oh yeeeeeaah?"

i’m gonna break up i say

an’ reach for your coat

‘neath piles of paper slogans

i say your house is dirty

---

you say you should talk

your hallway stinks as

we walk through it

your stairs tilt drastically

your railing’s rotted

an’ there’s blood at the

---

bottom of your steps

you say t’ meet bricks with bricks

i say t’ meet bricks with chalk

you tell me monster floor plans

an’ i tell you about a bookie shop

in boston givin’ odds on the presidential

---

race

i’m not gonna bet for a while i say

little children

shoot craps

in the alley garbage pot

you say "nothin’s perfect"

---

an’ i tell you again

there are no

politics

----

Bob Dylan - some other kinds of songs.