In which direction are we going?
How many runaways are we stowing?
Over the black sea with your arm around me
In whose honor have we gone missing?
I am too hungry to imagine
A different ending to this famine
In building chaos of calenders and clocks
I missed a marked and I got us lost
It's standing eight count

Out on the dark and shoreless waters
Comrade do you think we'll go under?
On which horizon is my lover waking up?
You pass this bottle and then I think too much
Lean your body up against me
Make believe that you still want me
The swell of white caps and a silver streak of light
Here on the bowline we pay clearly for our size
It's standing eight count

Lessons will come but wisdom will wait
And whenever it does it's too late
What good are we now?
With our backs on the ground
Our faces both bloodied and bowed
When we ought to know better by now

The flat and troubled shapeless earth
It stretches further then you've heard
No love like our love, none older, none as cursed
You hurt the ones you love and we wouldn't do
Much worse

How many fingers am I showing?
How many tears are you withholding?
Beads of sweat pouring in our eyes
If it were blood we wouldn't know it
It's standing eight count

Copyright: Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
Writer(s): JAKOB DYLAN