Me and Mr. Dylan,
spinnin', swingin', laughing
gathered around the campfire,
casting spells in our own parade,
as the evening empire embers to ash.
Me and Mr. Dylan,
singing, tambourines in hand,
disappearing in our minds,
dancing beneath the diamond sky,
heeding the advice:
Forget about today until tomorrow.
Me and Mr. Dylan,
waiting, writing our own script,
sitting on an empty street too dead for dreaming,
while clowns chase their own shadows,
chasing the fantasy of jumping upon a magic swirling ship.
Me and Mr. Dylan,
waiting in the jingle jangle morning,
with all memory and fate driven deep,
with no destination to go,
waiting for the Tambourine Man to play a song.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem