| Lyrics: | (Bob Dylan)
In the time of my confession, in the hour of my deepest need
When the pool of
tears beneath my feet flood every newborn seed
There's a dyin' voice within me reaching out
somewhere,
Toiling in the danger and in the morals of despair.
Don't have the
inclination to look back on any mistake,
Like Cain, I now behold this chain of events that I
must break.
In the fury of the moment I can see the Master's hand
In every leaf that
trembles and, in every grain of sand.
Oh, the flowers of indulgence and the weeds of
yesteryear,
Like criminals, they have choked the breath of conscience and good cheer.
The
sun beat down upon the steps of time to light the way
To ease the pain of idleness and the
memory of decay.
I gaze into the doorway of temptation's angry flame
And every time I
pass that way I always hear my name.
Then onward in my journey I come to understand
That
every hair is numbered like every grain of sand.
I have gone from rags to riches in the
sorrow of the night
In the violence of a summer's dream, in the chill of a wintry light,
In
the bitter dance of loneliness fading into space,
In the broken mirror of innocence on each
forgotten face.
I hear the ancient footsteps like the motion of the sea
Sometimes I
turn, there's someone there, other times it's only me.
I am hanging in the balance of a perfect
finished plan
Like every sparrow falling, like every grain of sand |
