a nice long weekend in ithaca comes to a crashing end this morning as i jostle with the unwashed masses on the L train; each of us furiously trying to get to our meaningless jobs.
this lyric from dylan's "mighty quinn" stuck with me as i smushed against my fellow hoi polloi...
I like my sugar sweet,
But guarding fumes and making haste,
It ain't my cup of meat.
Ev'rybody's 'neath the trees,
Feeding pigeons on a limb
But when Quinn the Eskimo gets here,
All the pigeons gonna run to him.
a great song, but i'm not really sure who the mighty quinn is - neither is dylan, apparently. i'm sure he penned it during a drug-fueled writing session so i'll give him a pass. in any event, it'd be interesting (uh, and hilarious) if an eskimo showed up on the streets of nyc and solved all of our problems.
i can't find dylan's version on youtube so i'll post manfred mann's version instead (with slightly modified lyrics):
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