When you are old and grey and full of sleep, And nodding by the fire, take down this book, And slowly read, and dream of the soft look Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep; How many loved your moments of glad grace, And loved your beauty with love false or true, But one man loved the pilgrim Soul in you, And loved the sorrows of your changing face; And bending down beside the glowing bars, Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled And paced upon the mountains overhead And hid his face amid a crowd of stars. –William Butler Yeats, "When You Are Old"

You got a lotta nerve To say you are my friend When I was down You just stood there grinning You got a lotta nerve To say you got a helping hand to lend You just want to be on The side that's winning You say I let you down You know it's not like that If you're so hurt Why then don't you show it You say you lost your faith But that's not where it's at You had no faith to lose And you know it I know the reason That you talk behind my back I used to be among the crowd You're in with Do you take me for such a fool To think I'd make contact With the one who tries to hide What he don't know to begin with You see me on the street You always act surprised You say, "How are you?" "Good luck" But you don't mean it When you know as well as me You'd rather see me paralyzed Why don't you just come out once And scream it No, I do not feel that good When I see the heartbreaks you embrace If I was a master thief Perhaps I'd rob them And now I know you're dissatisfied With your position and your place Don't you understand It's not my problem I wish that for just one time You could stand inside my shoes And just for that one moment I could be you Yes, I wish that for just one time You could stand inside my shoes You'd know what a drag it is To see you –Bob Dylan, "Positively 4th Street"

How many times must a man look up Before he can see the sky? Yes, 'n' how many ears must one man have Before he can hear people cry? Yes, 'n' how many deaths will it take till he knows That too many people have died? The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind, The answer is blowin' in the wind. –Bob Dylan

If Michael, leader of God's host When Heaven and Hell are met, Looked down on you from Heaven's door-post He would his deeds forget. Brooding no more upon God's wars In his divine homestead, He would go weave out of the stars A chaplet for your head. And all folk seeing him bow down, And white stars tell your praise, Would come at last to God's great town, Led on by gentle ways; And God would bid His warfare cease, Saying all things were well; And softly make a rosy peace, A peace of Heaven with Hell. – William Butler Yeats