Walking a road other men have gone down.
I'm seeing your world of people and things,
your paupers and peasants and princes and kings.
Hey, hey, Bob Dylan, I'm writing this song
For the man with a brand you would never take on.
You said "you're born with the wrong name, it happens you see...
Call yourself what you want, it's the land of the free."
So you left home behind and you never looked back,
Just rambled and gambled and hopped on the tracks -
All alone on the road with the spirit ahead
And old Rob back in Minnesota, cold and dead.
You know I went with you all the way down to New York.
Tried followin' your footsteps but the road got too dark,
And the imprints more shallow each step 'long the way -
Twenty one grams you lost with each role that you played.
Then I lost you and couldn't get on by myself;
And I couldn't believe I was anyone else.
So I sought all those characters in people I knew
And the drama's been guiding me cue after cue.
So I pray that your doing alright on your own;
As for me, well, you know I'll just keep moving on,
With my comrades and company this road occupied -
Making all the difference that it's less traveled by.