by Bob Dylan



I dreamed I saw St. Augustine,

Alive as you or me,

Tearing through these quarters

In the utmost misery,

With a blanket underneath his arm

And a coat of solid gold,

Searching for the very souls

Whom already have been sold.



"Arise, arise," he cried so loud,

In a voice without restraint,

"Come out, ye gifted kings and queens

And hear my sad complaint.

No martyr is among ye now

Whom you can call your own,

So go on your way accordingly

But know you're not alone."



I dreamed I saw St. Augustine,

Alive with fiery breath,

And I dreamed I was amongst the ones

That put him out to death.

Oh, I awoke in anger,

So alone and terrified,

I put my fingers against the glass

And bowed my head and cried.