So here it was, this joker medicine man, always tangled up in blue, always down on highway 61, reminding everyone something's happening here and we don't know what it is, obsessed in never being other than a rolling stone, all along the watchtower and expecting rain -- or the answer blowing in the wind.
At the end of my pilgrimage in search of a holy man, I did find my answer when he sang an unbelievable version of Visions of Johanna -- the true Coloradoans by my side were also speechless. While our consciousness may explode in the search of a vanished American dream...
"the harmonicas play the skeleton keys and the rainOh yeah, exceptional America:
and these visions of Johanna are now all that remain."
"Ain't it just like the [Southwest] night to play tricks when you're trying to be so quiet? It seems like we'll be sitting here stranded for quite a while -- even though we all keep doing our best to deny it."