And when you hear that song
Come crying like the wind
It seems like all this life
Was just a dream
It’s the same story the crow told me; it’s the only one he knows.
Like the morning sun you come and like the wind you go.
Let your tracks be lost in the dark and snow
Old man down
Way down, down by the docks of the city
Blind and dirty
Asked me for a dime, a dime for a cup of coffee
I got no dime, but I got some time to hear his story
Here are comments from all the surviving members of the Grateful Dead, and some of Dead & Company.
God bless the child who’s got his own stash,
Nine to five and a place to crash
Which is to say
(Hey hey hey)
Keep your day job…’til your night job pays.
(Okay, so it was unpopular with the ‘heads. I still think it’s a great little encore rocker with some lyric lines worthy of Cole Porter)
I have a friend who likes Day Job. So you’re the other one! 
Now find someone who likes Victim or the Crime (though it’s not a Hunter song of course).
Not me. “Victim or the Crime” sucks.
Although I DID meet John Perry Barlow — Bob Weir’s lyricist — in 1990, at a party in Las Vegas where I also met Mickey Hart and Dr. Timothy Leary. Shared a cab with John and his scorching hot punkette wife (girlfriend, maybe) back to our hotel.
Over the last few days I’ve been revisiting my copy of “A Box of Rain”, the book of lyrics that Hunter put out back in the 90’s. It appears to be out of print now, Amazon is only showing used copies for a ridiculous price (I suspect that recent events have spiked the asking prices a bit).
Anyway, on several of the songs he makes a short note about them at the bottom of the page. My favorite was on China Cat Sunflower:
“Nobody ever asked me the meaning of this song. People seem to know exactly what I’m talking about. It’s good that a few things in this world are clear to all of us.”
If you dig the Dead and Robert Hunter’s lyrics, this book is essential. I hope that they reprint it again so a new generation can enjoy it as well.
At the end of the String Cheese Incident show last night, Billy Nershi spoke a little about Hunter (who wrote several songs for SCI), and then led the crowd in a singalong of Ripple. It was quite moving.
But how shall
I know when
to die if by
understanding
death I mean
an allegory of
life & other
seasonal passes?
How should
I be dead if
my words live?
from Idiot’s Delight (1992) by Robert Hunter