Bob Dylan

Standard Version

Your lyrical words are oral crosswords;
They twist, they rhyme… it’s a pantomime
The way you disturb the nouns and verbs –
Confusing, confounding us all of the time.

Are you a singing wordsmith, or rhyming poet?
Novelist, writer or singing man?
You’re so good, we all just know it –
The Picasso of music to the puzzling fan.

Your gravel voice was never strong,
But now it’s cracked beyond repair;
Words mumble and tumble along,
Riding on air as they subtly ensnare.

What you’re on about I still don’t know.
You mystify with anecdotes,
Your images flow – fast or slow –
And elusively float in rhyming quotes.

Genuine artist, no marketing sham;
A bit intense but with no pretense:
Say what you think, don’t give a damn.
Talking in riddles or plain common sense?

Who knows the answer (even do you?!).
Straightforward you’re not – you’re frankly surreal.
But you are the truth, that’s my heartfelt view.
Yes, you’re The Man – the Real Deal.