Text:
Jakob Dylan Seeing Things

You're old enough to know well The better things are all uphill Bitter songs are never sung In the highlands where you belong In the smoke of cannons

I was born in the summer of Sam Smaller and sooner than planned Oh, in the spitting image of a man Raised by wolves on the fat of the land Clear of romance

Oh, in my mind's eye, a plantation In the clearing is a platform station In the distance is a kingdom Into the front line is how I'm coming They say

We'd feel much better if we sunk this treasure And we laid our armor down Now these precious metals, these captain's letters Are no use to us now Oh,

It doesn't always have a shape Almost never does it have a name It maybe has a pitchfork, maybe has a tail But evil is alive and well It might walk upright

You're old enough to know well The better things are all up hill Bitter songs are never sung In the highlands where you belong In the smoke of cannons

We'd feel much better if we sunk this treasure And laid our armor down These precious metals and these captain's letters They are no use to us now In