You Don't Need A Weatherman To Know

Come Senators, Congressmen, Please Heed The Call, Don't Stand In The Doorway, Don't Block Up The Hall, For He That Gets Hurt, Will Be He Who Has Stalled, The Battle Outside Ragin', Will Soon Shake Your Windows And Rattle Your Walls, For The Times They Are A-changin'...

Someone Handed Me Mexico City Blues In St. Paul [minnesota] In 1959 And It Blew My Mind. It Was The First Poetry That Spoke My Own Language.

You Can't Imagine Parlor Ballads Drifting Out Of High-rise Multi-towered Buildings. That Kind Of Music Existed In A More Timeless State Of Life.

I Became Interested In Folk Music Because I Had To Make It Somehow.

I'm Looking For A Woman Who's Head Is Mixed Up Like Mine.