Oh, crazy,
For thinking that my love could hold you.
I’m crazy for trying,
And crazy for crying,
And I’m crazy for loving you.
I was a willow last night in a dream
I bent down over a clear running stream
Sang you the song that I heard up above
And you kept me alive with your sweet flowing love
Crazy
Yeah, crazy on you
Let me go crazy, crazy on you, oh
Crazy on you
Crazy on you
Let me go crazy, crazy on you, yeah
Crazy on you
Crazy on you
Let me go crazy, crazy on you, oh
Oh dream weaver,
I believe you can get me through the night.
Oh dream weaver,
I believe we can reach the morning light.
Sweet dreams are made of these,
Who am I to disagree.
I love my fellow creatures — I do all the good I can —
Yet ev’rybody says I’m such a disagreeable man!
And I can’t think why!
I do my best
And I do good business
There’s a lot of people asking for my time
They’re trying to get ahead
They’re trying to be a good friend of mine
I was a free man in Paris
I felt unfettered and alive
Drove from Paris to the Amsterdam Hilton
Talking in our beds for a week
The news people said, “Say what you doing in bed?”
I said, “We’re only trying to get us some peace”
Christ you know it ain’t easy
You know how hard it can be
The way things are going
They’re gonna crucify me
In the port of Amsterdam there’s a sailor who sings
Of the dreams that he brings from the wide open sea.
In the port of Amsterdam there’s a sailor who sleeps
While the river bank weeps to the old willow tree.
On the willows, there
We hung up our lyres
For our captors there
Required
Of us songs
And our tormentor’s mirth
Saying
Sing us one
Of the songs of Zion
Sing us one
Of the songs of Zion
But how can we sing?
Sing the Lord’s songs?
In a foreign land?
+1
Yes it’s true I am a young man
But I’m old enough to kill
I don’t wanna kill nobody
But I must if you so will
And if I raise my hand in question
You just say that I’m a fool
‘Cause I got the gall to ask you
Can you maybe change the rules
Can you stand and call me upstart
Ask what answer can I find, I ain’t sayin’ I’m a genius
2+2 is on my mind
And it’s 1, 2, 3
What are we fighting for?
Don’t ask me, I don’t give a damn
Next stop is Vietnam
And it’s 5, 6, 7
Open up the pearly gates
There ain’t no time to wonder why
Whoopee!
We’re all going to die
It wasn’t me that started that whole crazy Asian war
But I was proud to go and do my patriotic chore
Yes it’s true that I’m not the man I used to be
Oh Ruby, still need some company
Yeah, yeah, some folks inherit star-spangled eyes
Ooh, they’ll send you down to war, Lord
And when you ask them, “How much should we give?”
Ooh, they only answer, “More, more, more” y’all
It ain’t me, it ain’t me
I ain’t no military son, son, son-ah
It ain’t me, it ain’t me
I ain’t no fortunate one, one, y’allI
We gotta get outta this place,
If it’s the last thing we ever do,
We gotta get outta this place,
Cause, girl, there’s a better place for me and you…
And the little man,
Looked at the empty glass in his hand.
And he smiled a crooked grin,
He said, " I guess I’m out of gin.
And know we both have been so lonely.
And if you want me to come with you, then that’s all right with me.
‘Cause I know I’m goin’ nowhere and anywhere’s a better place to be."
Voices leaking from a sad cafe
Smiling faces try to understand
I saw a shadow touch a shadow’s hand
On Bleeker Street
A poet reads his crooked rhyme
Holy, holy is his sacrament
Thirty dollars pays your rent
On Bleeker Street
Jack Knife cries cause baby’s in a bundle
She goes running nightly, lightly through the jungle
And them tin cans are exploding out in the ninety-degree heat
Cat somehow lost his baby down on Bleecker Street
It’s sad but it sure is true
Cat shrugs his shoulders, sits back and sighs
Ooh, what can I do, ooh, what can I do?
Ooh, what can I do, ooh what can I do?
Then one night in desperation
A young man breaks away
He buys a gun, steals a car
Tries to run, but he don’t get far
And his mama cries
As a crowd gathers 'round an angry young man
Face down on the street with a gun in his hand
In the ghetto (in the ghetto)
Outside the street’s on fire in a real death waltz
Between what’s flesh and what’s fantasy
And the poets down here don’t write nothing at all
They just stand back and let it all be