A song for Dylan. (Taken with Instagram)

church of phocks

Through the mad mystic hammering of the wild ripping hail / The sky cracked its poems in naked wonder, / That the clinging of the church bells blew far into the breeze / Leaving only bells of lightning and its thunder / Striking for the gentle, striking for the kind, / Striking for the guardians and protectors of the mind, / An’ the poet and the painter far behind his rightful time / An’ we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing.
▲ Home ▲ Ask ▲ Archive ▲ Random ▲ Email ▲ Likes ▲ Twitter ▲ Feed ▲ Follow ▲ Tags ▲ Submit ▲ Face ▲ 666 ▲ Songs ▲ Personal ▲ ▲

▲2 | reblog | orig | 10 months ago

and-other-things likes this
favstarbot28 likes this
phocks posted this

Tagged as: personal. bob dylan.