This morning I'm weeping for Dylan
Everyone's bound to get old,
so say all, it's what I've been told
heart bursting with love for this villain,

The blue-eyed son of this cut-throat age,
words clear as crystal, poems like glass,
soon turning his final page
on all these things that have to pass;

standing on the ocean and sinking,
where falls the hard rain,
I cannot stop thinking,
his aging is my pure pain

yes, this early morning I woke,
in thoughts of the bard, eyes in tears,
room roaring with words that he spoke
through my fears, down all waining years