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Oh where have you been, my blue eyed son? |
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Where have you been, my darling young one? |
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I've stumbled on the side of twelve misty mountains |
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Walked and I've crawled on six crooked highways |
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Stepped in the middle of seven sad forests |
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Been out in front of a dozen dead oceans |
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I've been ten thousand miles in mouth of a graveyard |
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And it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall |
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And what did you see, my blue eyed son? |
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What did you see, my darling young one? |
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I saw a new-born baby with wild wolves around it |
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I saw a highway of diamonds with nobody on it |
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I saw a black branch with blood that kept drippin' |
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I saw a room full of men with their hammers a bleedin' |
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A white ladder all covered with water |
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I saw ten thousand talkers whose tongues were all broken |
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I saw guns and sharp swords in the hands of young children |
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And it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall |
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And what did you hear, my blue eyed son? |
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What did you hear, my darling young one |
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I heard the sound of thunder that roared out a warning |
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Heard the roar of a wave that could drown the whole world |
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Heard one hundred drummers whose hands were a blazin' |
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Heard ten thousand whisperin' and nobody listenin' |
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Heard one person starve, I heard many people laughin' |
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Heard the song of a poet who died in the gutter |
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Heard the sound of a clown who cried in the alley |
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And it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall |
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Oh who you did meet, my blue eyed son? |
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Who did you meet, my darling young one? |
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I met a young child beside a dead pony |
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I met a white man who walked a black dog |
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I met a young woman whose body was burning |
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A young girl, she gave me a rainbow |
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I met one man who was wounded in love |
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Another man who was wounded with hatred |
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And it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall |
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Oh whatll you do now, my blue eyed son? |
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Whatll you do now, my darling young one? |
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I'm goin' back out 'fore the rain starts a-fallin' |
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Walk throught the depths of the deepest black forest |
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Where the people are many and their hands are all empty |
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Where the pellets of poison are flooding their waters |
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Where the home in the valley meets the damp dirty prison |
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Where the executioners face is always well hidden |
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Where hunger is ugly, where souls are forgotten |
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Where black is the colour, and none is the number |
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And I'll tell it and think it and speak it and breathe it |
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And reflect it from the mountains so all souls can see it |
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Then I'll stand in the ocean until I start sinking |
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But I'll know my song well before I start singing |
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And it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall |
