![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Curse me for a messy, sloppy, disorganised useless bitch - I really needed to listen to Bob Dylan's Planet Waves. Really, really need it, like I need oxygen, nicotine and coffee. And I can't fucking find it. It wasn't in the CD holder that goes with my (now defunct) personal CD player, it wasn't in the pretty blue wallet I keep most of my CDs in, and it wasn't in its fucking box. And after going through every other CD box in the flat, it wasn't in anyone else's box either - although I did discover Kirsty MacColl's Kite in Lynyrd Skynyrd's Greatest Hits' box, and Nick Lowe's Greatest Hits (which I've been looking for for a while) in the Grateful Dead's American Beauty's box, so it wasn't a complete waste of effort.
I organised the whole lot, and I'm left with four CDs with no boxes and two boxes with no CD - Planet Waves and David Bowie's Man who Sold the World.
I NEED PLANET WAVES NOW. I'm going to get all self-indulgent and post some lyrics from it and then I'm going to go see if I can download it illegally. I'm allowed to do that if I've just misplaced my legal paid-for copy, aren't I?
I hate myself for lovin' you and the weakness that it showed
You were just a painted face on a trip down Suicide Road.
The stage was set, the lights went out all around the old hotel,
I hate myself for lovin' you and I'm glad the curtain fell.
I hate that foolish game we played and the need that was expressed
And the mercy that you showed to me, who ever would have guessed?
I went out on Lower Broadway and I felt that place within,
That hollow place where martyrs weep and angels play with sin.
Heard your songs of freedom and man forever stripped,
Acting out his folly while his back is being whipped.
Like a slave in orbit, he's beaten 'til he's tame,
All for a moment's glory and it's a dirty, rotten shame.
There are those who worship loneliness, I'm not one of them,
In this age of fiberglass I'm searching for a gem.
The crystal ball up on the wall hasn't shown me nothing yet,
I've paid the price of solitude, but at last I'm out of debt.
Can't recall a useful thing you ever did for me
'Cept pat me on the back one time when I was on my knees.
We stared into each other's eyes 'til one of us would break,
No use to apologize, what diff'rence would it make?
So sing your praise of progress and of the Doom Machine,
The naked truth is still taboo whenever it can be seen.
Lady Luck, who shines on me, will tell you where I'm at,
I hate myself for lovin' you, but I should get over that.
(Words and Music by Bob Dylan)
1973, 1976 Ram's Horn Music
I organised the whole lot, and I'm left with four CDs with no boxes and two boxes with no CD - Planet Waves and David Bowie's Man who Sold the World.
I NEED PLANET WAVES NOW. I'm going to get all self-indulgent and post some lyrics from it and then I'm going to go see if I can download it illegally. I'm allowed to do that if I've just misplaced my legal paid-for copy, aren't I?
I hate myself for lovin' you and the weakness that it showed
You were just a painted face on a trip down Suicide Road.
The stage was set, the lights went out all around the old hotel,
I hate myself for lovin' you and I'm glad the curtain fell.
I hate that foolish game we played and the need that was expressed
And the mercy that you showed to me, who ever would have guessed?
I went out on Lower Broadway and I felt that place within,
That hollow place where martyrs weep and angels play with sin.
Heard your songs of freedom and man forever stripped,
Acting out his folly while his back is being whipped.
Like a slave in orbit, he's beaten 'til he's tame,
All for a moment's glory and it's a dirty, rotten shame.
There are those who worship loneliness, I'm not one of them,
In this age of fiberglass I'm searching for a gem.
The crystal ball up on the wall hasn't shown me nothing yet,
I've paid the price of solitude, but at last I'm out of debt.
Can't recall a useful thing you ever did for me
'Cept pat me on the back one time when I was on my knees.
We stared into each other's eyes 'til one of us would break,
No use to apologize, what diff'rence would it make?
So sing your praise of progress and of the Doom Machine,
The naked truth is still taboo whenever it can be seen.
Lady Luck, who shines on me, will tell you where I'm at,
I hate myself for lovin' you, but I should get over that.
(Words and Music by Bob Dylan)
1973, 1976 Ram's Horn Music
