So we wait for the incumbent to concede. Most of us have stopped waiting because it's not possible. Blood from a turnip and all that. The refrain pulsing in my brain is this Dylan song. I've listened to various versions in the last few days, but the original still shines bright.
Often when we return to a Dylan song after years of letting it lie, we find that the images are fresh and have new meanings for our time. Like his idol, Woody Guthrie, Dylan is able to do that.
The orphan with the gun sees the saints have begun to stir
The sailors are seasick and the army is silent...holding onto nothing but a red hat.
The harvest of coincidence leaves the artist without a brush to hold
stepping stones lead away, but to where?
Change your clothes don't answer the door
Turn off the lights
It's all over now.
You must leave now, take what you need, you think will last
But whatever you wish to keep, you better grab it fast
Yonder stands your orphan with his gun
Crying like a fire in the sun
Look out, the saints are comin' through
And it's all over now, Baby Blue
The highway is for gamblers, better use your sense
Take what you have gathered from coincidence
The empty-handed painter from your streets
Is drawing crazy patterns on your sheets
The sky too is folding under you
And it's all over now, Baby Blue
All your seasick sailors, they're all rowing home
Your empty-handed army is all going home
Your lover who just walked out the door
Has taken all his blankets from the floor
The carpet too is moving under you
And it's all over now, Baby Blue
Leave your stepping stones behind there, something calls for you
Forget the dead you've left, they will not follow you
The vagabond who's rapping at your door
Is standing in the clothes that you once wore
Strike another match, go start anew
And it's all over now, Baby Blue
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