Old Bob Dylan sits and watches his world go by – these wrinkled and altogether eyes have been to see perhaps a million little stories
And, you can rest-assure, he has told them himself, to a billion such people
Each of them utterly remembering when a guitar and a soliloquy voice caressed their mid-evening 70s everything, sent on a seriously enveloped prayer – addressed to the whole wide world perhaps
What occurs though when his particular forever chair is finally left entirely alone?

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