http://kr.blog.yahoo.com/evenkie223/1375208
bob dylan & allen ginsberg 삶이 그대를 속이거나 혹은 그대가 삶을 속일 때 볼란다.not dark yetbob dylanShadows are falling and I've been here all dayIt's too hot to sleep time is running awayFeel like my soul has turned into steelI've still got the scars that the sun didn't heal There's not even room enough to be anywhereIt's not dark yet, but it's getting thereWell my sense of humanity has gone down the drainBehind every beautiful thing there's been some kind of painShe wrote me a letter and she wrote it so kindShe put down in writing what was in her mindI just don't see why I should even careIt's not dark yet, but it's getting thereWell, I've been to London and I've been to gay PareeI've followed the river and I got to the seaI've been down on the bottom of a world full of liesI ain't looking for nothing in anyone's eyesSometimes my burden seems more than I can bearIt's not dark yet, but it's getting thereI was born here and I'll die here against my willI know it looks like I'm moving, but I'm standing stillEvery nerve in my body is so vacant and numbI can't even remember what it was I came here to get away fromDon't even hear a murmur of a prayerIt's not dark yet, but it's getting there.The sound of the belch'd words of my voice loos'd to the eddies of the wind, A few light kisses, a few embraces, a reaching around of arms, The play of shine and shade on the trees as the supple boughs wag, The delight alone or in the rush of the streets, or along the fields and hill-sides, The feeling of health, the full-noon trill, the song of me rising from bed and meeting the sun. You shall possess the good of the earth and sun, (there are millions of suns left,) - walt whitman -
The sound of the belch'd words of my voice loos'd to the eddies of the wind, A few light kisses, a few embraces, a reaching around of arms, The play of shine and shade on the trees as the supple boughs wag, The delight alone or in the rush of the streets, or along the fields and hill-sides, The feeling of health, the full-noon trill, the song of me rising from bed and meeting the sun. You shall possess the good of the earth and sun, (there are millions of suns left,) - walt whitman -
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