ISSUE 5 / FALL 2006
Issue 5
Music

Madamfo
by Terry Power

Sometimes

by Black Flamingo

Prestame tu Planeta

by John Speck and the Bacon Bits

Where Are My Keys?

by Mike Hyden

The Next Bob Dylan

by Norman Ball and Lonnie Glass

Hypnotized

by Samuel Driessen

First Man on Mars

by Jason Farnham

The Next Bob Dylan
by Norman Ball and Lonnie Glass


Lyrics:

everybody's killin' time til the next big show
everyone got traded out to where they need to go
everyone's a one-act play left standin' in the rain
everyone's a turncoat with a turnstile on his pain
everyone's a workin' stiff with orders how to listen
everyone's a weathervane of what they're really missin'
everyone's a troubadour at least within their minds
pulling words and music from the tenor of the times

the doctor's been in line since Tuesday waiting for good tickets
the lawyer wants an autograph to frame so he can trick us
rock star's a corporation spinning for the crowd
the boardroom china rattles cause the guitar's too loud
no one hears the music -- the venue's choked with spies
no one lives for something -- nothing's filled with lies
everyone's a troubadour at least within their minds
pulling words and music from the tenor of these times

everyone's an accident waiting for a happenin'
nobody cracks a book no more it's about toe tappin'
spinning dials on weekly idols just to tear them down
hammerin' the straight man just to elevate the clown
searching for lost innocence within the lost and found
no one turned it in cause god went underground
everyone's a troubadour at least within their minds
pulling words and music from the tenor of the times

who will risk the journey for the questions all alone?
whose slow hand will rise to free the angel from the stone?
how many bad actors dance upon a headless pin?
how many good liars are still dyin' to get in?
who will find religion in the age of superman?
who will guard the temple when the lion stalks the lamb?

everyone's a troubadour at least within their minds
everybody's giving up finding their own rhyme

oh my thoughts drift back to yesterday, the time not the song
the day my daddy shook his head and saw me headed wrong
his voice it echoes here today like ghosts within the notes
perhaps you feel his presence from the lump within my throat
he's long since dead, but clear as day here's what he said

he said...

son you are a troubadour at least within your mind
you can pull words and music from the wreckage of the times
so take my old guitar and practice all your trillin'
and maybe one day you'll be the next Bob Dylan

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