by Bob Dylan



I was thinking of a series of dreams

Where nothing comes up to the top

Everything stays down where it's wounded

And comes to a permanent stop

Wasn't thinking of anything specific

Like in a dream, when someone wakes up and screams

Nothing too very scientific

Just thinking of a series of dreams



Thinking of a series of dreams

Where the time and the tempo fly

And there's no exit in any direction

'Cept the one that you can't see with your eyes

Wasn't making any great connection

Wasn't falling for any intricate scheme

Nothing that would pass inspection

Just thinking of a series of dreams



Dreams where the umbrella is folded

Into the path you are hurled

And the cards are no good that you're holding

Unless they're from another world



In one, numbers were burning

In another, I witnessed a crime

In one, I was running, and in another

All I seemed to be doing was climb

Wasn't looking for any special assistance

Not going to any great extremes

I'd already gone the distance

Just thinking of a series of dreams