| C | | Where have you been, my blue-eyed son? |
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| G | | Where have you been, my darling young | one? |
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| F | G | C | | I've str | ayed on the side of t | welve misty mo | untains. |
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I've walked and I've crawled on six crooked highways. |
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I've stepped in the middle of seven sad forestes. |
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I've been out in front of a dozen dead oceans. |
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Been ten thousand miles in the mouth of a graveyard. |
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| | | G | C | | | it's a | hard rain's a-gonna | fall. |
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What did you see, my blue-eyed son? |
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What did you see, my darling young one? |
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I saw a newborn babe with the wild wolves around it. |
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I saw a highway of golden with nobody on it. |
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I saw a black branch with a blood that kept dripping. |
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Saw a room full of men with their hammers a-bleeding. |
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I saw a white ladder all covered with water. |
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Saw ten thousand talkers whose tongues were are broken. |
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Saw guns and sharp swords in the hands of young children. |
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What did you hear, my blue-eyed son? |
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What did you hear, my darling young one? |
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I heard the roar of a thunder -- it roared out a warning. |
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Heard the roar of a wave that could drown the whole world. |
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Heard one hundred drummers whose hands were a-blazing. |
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Heard ten thousand whispering, and nobody listening. |
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Heard the song of a poet who died in the gutter. |
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Heard the sound of a clown that cried in the alley. |
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Heard the sound of one person who cried he was human. |
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Who did you meet, my blue-eyed son? |
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Who did you meet, my darling young one? |
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I met a young child beside a dead pony. |
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I met a white man who walked a black dog. |
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I met a young women whose body was burning. |
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I met a young girl -- she gave me a rainbow. |
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I met one man -- he was wounded in love. |
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I met another man -- he was wounded in hatred. |
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Well, what'll you do now, my blue-eyed son? |
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What'll you do now, my darling young one? |
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I'm going back out, 'fore the rain starts a-fallin'. |
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I'll walk to the depths of the deepest dark forest, |
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Where the people are many, and their hands are all empty, |
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Where the pellets of poison are flooding my waters, |
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Where the home in the valley meets the dark dirty prison, |
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Where the executioner's face is always well hidden, |
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Where hunger is ugly, where souls are forgotten, |
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Where black is the color, where none is the number. |
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And I'll see it and tell it and think it and be it. |
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And reflect from the mountains so all souls can see it. |
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And I'll stand on the ocean until I start sinking. |
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But I'll know my song well before I start sinking. |
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