When yer head gets twisted and yer mind grows numb
when you think youand're too old, too young, too smart or too dumb
when yer lagginand' behind anand' losinand' yer pace
in a slow-motion crawl of lifeand's busy race
no matter what yer doing if you start givinand' up
if the wine donand't come to the top of yer cup
if the windand's got you sideways with with one hand holdinand' 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 woodand's easy findinand' but yer lazy to fetch it
and yer sidewalk starts curlinand' and the street gets too long
and you start walkinand' backwards though you know its wrong
and lonesome comes up as down goes the day
and tomorrowand's morninand' seems so far away
and you feel the reins from yer pony are slippinand'
and yer rope is a-slidinand' and'cause yer hands are a-drippinand'
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 pipeand's a-pourinand'
and the lightninand's a-flashing and the thunderand's a-crashinand'
and the windows are rattlinand' and breakinand' and the roof tops a-shakinand'
and yer whole worldand's a-slamminand' and banginand'
and yer minutes of sun turn to hours of storm
and to yourself you sometimes say
andquot;i never knew it was gonna be this way
why didnand't they tell me the day i was bornandquot;
and you start gettinand' chills and yer jumping from sweat
and youand're lookinand' for somethinand' you ainand't quite found yet
and yer knee-deep in the dark water with yer hands in the air
and the whole worldand's a-watchinand' with a window peek stare
and yer good gal leaves and sheand's long gone a-flying
and yer heart feels sick like fish when theyand're fryinand'
and yer jackhammer falls from yer hand to yer feet
and you need it badly but it lays on the street
and yer belland's banginand' loudly but you canand't hear its beat
and you think yer ears might a been hurt
or yer eyesand've turned filthy from the sight-blindinand' dirt
and you figured you failed in yesterdays rush
when you were faked out anand' fooled white facing a four flush
and all the time you were holdinand' three queens
and itand's makin you mad, itand's makinand' you mean
like in the middle of life magazine
bouncinand' around a pinball machine
and thereand's something on yer mind you wanna be saying
that somebody someplace oughta be hearinand'
but itand's trapped on yer tongue and sealed in yer head
and it bothers you badly when your layinand' in bed
and no matter how you try you just canand'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 lionand'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 youand'd never taken that last detour sign
and you say to yourself just what am i doinand'
on this road iand'm walkinand', on this trail iand'm turninand'
on this curve iand'm hanging
on this pathway iand'm strolling, in the space iand'm taking
in this air iand'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 iand'm playing, on this banjo iand'm frailinand'
on this mandolin iand'm strumminand', in the song iand'm singinand'
in the tune iand'm humminand', in the words iand'm writinand'
in the words that iand'm thinkinand'
in this ocean of hours iand'm all the time drinkinand'
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 theyand're around
just waiting for a chance to slip and drop down
andquot;cause sometimes you hearand'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 dreaminand'
and you canand't remember for the best of yer thinking
if that was you in the dream that was screaming
and you know that itand's something special youand're needinand'
and you know that thereand's no drug thatand'll do for the healinand'
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 flyinand' train on a tornado track
to shoot you someplace and shoot you back
you need a cyclone wind on a stream engine howler
thatand's been banging and booming and blowing forever
that knows yer troubles a hundred times over
you need a greyhound bus that donand't bar no race
that wonand't laugh at yer looks
your voice or your face
and by any number of bets in the book
will be rollinand' 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 itand's you and no one else that owns
that spot that yer standing, that space that youand're sitting
that the world ainand't got you beat
that it ainand't got you licked
it canand'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 hopeand's just a word
that maybe you said or maybe you heard
on some windy corner and'round a wide-angled curve
But thatand's what you need man, and you need it bad
and yer trouble is you know it too good
andquot;cause you look anand' you start getting the chills
andquot;cause you canand't find it on a dollar bill
and it ainand't on macyand's window sill
and it ainand't on no rich kidand's road map
and it ainand't in no fat kidand's fraternity house
and it ainand't made in no hollywood wheat germ
and it ainand't on that dimlit stage
with that half-wit comedian on it
ranting and raving and taking yer money
and you thinks itand's funny
no you canand't find it in no night club or no yacht club
and it ainand't in the seats of a supper club
and sure as hell youand're bound to tell
that no matter how hard you rub
you just ainand't a-gonna find it on yer ticket stub
no, and it ainand't in the rumors peopleand're tellinand' you
and it ainand't in the pimple-lotion people are sellinand' you
and it ainand't in no cardboard-box house
or down any movie starand's blouse
and you canand't find it on the golf course
and uncle remus canand't tell you and neither can santa claus
and it ainand't in the cream puff hair-do or cotton candy clothes
and it ainand't in the dime store dummies or bubblegum goons
and it ainand't in the marshmallow noises of the chocolate cake voices
that come knockinand' and tappinand' in christmas wrappinand'
sayinand' ainand't i pretty and ainand'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 canand't even sense if they got any insides
these people so pretty in their ribbons and bows
no youand'll not now or noother 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 ainand't in the fifty-star generals and flipped-out phonies
whoand'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
the ones that wheel and deal and whirl and twirl
and play games with each other in their sand-box world
and you canand'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 ainand't in the ones that ainand't got any talent but think they do
and think theyand're foolinand' you
the ones who jump on the wagon
just for a while and'cause they know itand's in style
to get their kicks, get out of it quick
and make all kinds of money and chicks
and you yell to yourself and you throw down yer hat
sayinand', andquot;christ do i gotta be like that
ainand't there no one here that knows where iand'm at
ainand't there no one here that knows how i feel
good god almighty
that stuff ainand't realandquot;
No but that ainand't yer game, it ainand't even yer race
you canand't hear yer name, you canand't see yer face
you gotta look some other place
and where do you look for this hope that yer seekinand'
where do you look for this lamp thatand's a-burninand'
where do you look for this oil well gushinand'
where do you look for this candle thatand's glowinand'
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
youand'll find god in the church of your choice
youand'll find woody guthrie in brooklyn state hospital
And though itand's only my opinion
i may be right or wrong
youand'll find them both
in the grand canyon