BALLAD IN PLAIN D
Bob Dylan - 1964


I once loved a girl, her skin it
was bronze.
With the innocence of a lamb, she
was gentle like a fawn.
I courted her proudly but now she
isgone,
Gone as the season she's taken.

Through young summer's breeze,
I stole her away From her mother
and sister,
though close did they stay.
Each one of them suffering from
the failures of their day,
With strings of guilt they tried
hard to guide us.

Of the two sisters, I loved the
young.
With sensitive instincts, she was
the creative one.
The constant scapegoat, she was
easily undone
By the jealousy of others around
her.

For her parasite sister, I had
no respect,
Bound by her boredom, her pride
to protect.
Countless visions of the other
she'd reflect
As a crutch for her scenes and
her society.

Myself, for what I did, I cannot
be excused,
The changes I was going through
can't even be used,
For the lies that I told her in
hopes not to lose
The could-be dream-lover of my
lifetime.

With unknown consciousness, I
possessed in my grip
A magnificent mantelpiece, though
its heart being chipped,
Noticing not that I'd already
slipped
To a sin of love's false
security.

From silhouetted anger to
manufactured peace,
Answers of emptiness, voice
vacancies,
Till the tombstones of damage read
me
no questions but, "Please,
What's wrong and what's exactly
the matter?"

And so it did happen like it could
have been foreseen,
The timeless explosion of
fantasy's dream.
At the peak of the night, the king
and the queen
Tumbled all down into pieces.

"The tragic figure!" her sister
did shout,
"Leave her alone, God damn you,
get out!"
And I in my armor, turning about
And nailing her to the ruins of
her pettiness.

Beneath a bare light bulb the
plaster did pound
Her sister and I in a screaming
battleground.
And she in between, the victim
of sound,
Soon shattered as a child 'neath
her shadows.

All is gone, all is gone, admit
it, take flight.
I gagged twice, doubled, tears
blinding my sight
My mind it was mangled, I ran into
the night
Leaving all of love's ashes behind
me.

The wind knocks my window, the room
it is wet.
The words to say I'm sorry, I
haven't found yet.
I think of her often and hope
whoever she's met
Will be fully aware of how precious
she is.

Ah, my friends from the prison,
they ask unto me,
"How good, how good does it feel
to be free?"
And I answer them most
mysteriously,
"Are birds free from the chains of
the skyway?"