11 Outlined EpitaphsnBy Bob DylannnI end up thennin the early evenin'nblindly punchin' at the blindnbreathin' heavynstutterin'nan' blowin' upnwhere t' go?nwhat is it that's exactly wrong?nwho t' picket?nwho t' fight?nbehind what windowsnwill I at leastnhear someone from the supper tablenget up t' askndid I hear someone outside just now?nyesterdaynan hour agonit came t' menin a second's flashnan' was all so clearnit still is nownyes it isnit's maybe hidin'nit must be hidin'nthe shot has shooknme up . . . for I've nevernheard that sound beforenbringing wild thoughts at firstnragged wildnnumb wildnnow though they've leveled outnan' been wrung outnleavin' nothin' but the strangenessnthe roots within a washed-out clothndrippin' from the clothesline polenstrange thoughtsndoubtin' thoughtsnuseless an' unnecessarynthe blast it's truenstartled me back but for a spellncontent withnall pictures, posters an' the likenthat're painted for menah but I turnednan' the nex' time I lookednthe gloves of garbagenhad clobbered the canvasnleavin' truckloads of trashnclutterin' the colorsnwith a blindin' stingnforcin' me t' once againnslam the shutters of my eyesnbut also me to wonderin'nwhen they'll opennmuch much strongernthan anyone whose own eyes'renaimed over here at minenwhen will he open up his eyes?nwho him? doncha know? he's a crazy mannhe never opens up his eyesnbut he'll surely miss the world go bynnah! he lives in his own worldnmy my then he really must be a crazy mannyeah he's a crazy mannnan' so on spangled streetsnan' country roadsnI hear sleigh bellsnjingle janglenvirgin girlsnfar into the fieldnsing an' laughnwith flickerin' voicesnsoftly fadin'nI stop an' smilenan' rest awhilenwatchin' the candlesnof sundown dimnunnoticednunnoticed for my eyes're closed