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(Bob Dylan) Snow was piled up the stairs an onto the street that first winter when I laid around New York City It was a different street then- It was a different village- Nobody had nothin- There was nothin t get- Instead a bein drawn for money you were drawn for other people- Everybody used t hang around a heat pipe poundin subterranean coffee house called the Gaslight- It was at that time buried beneath the middle a MacDougal Street- It was a strange place an not out a any schoolbook- More'n seven nites a week the cops and firemen'd storm down the steps handin' out summons for trumped up reasons- More'n five nites a week out a town bullies'd start trouble an everybody from John the owner t Dave the cook t Rod the cash register ringer t Adele the waitress t anybody who was on the stage t just plain friends who were hangin around would have t come up swingin dishes an handles an brooms an chairs an sometimes even swords 'at hung on the wall in order t match the bullies' weight an the bullies was always big bullies- Everybody that hung out at the Gaslight was close- Yuh had t be- In order t keep from going insane and in order t survive- SongtexteAn it can't be denied- It was a hangout- But not like the street corner- Down there we weren't standin lookin out at the world watchin girls-and findin out how they walk- We was lookin at each other ... and findin out about ourselves- It is 'f these times that I remember most sadly- For they're gone- An they'll not never come again- It is 'f these times I think about now- I think back t one a them nites when the doors was locked an maybe thirty or forty people sat as close t the stage as they could- It was another nite past one o'clock an that meant that the tourists on the street coundn't get in- At these hours there was no tellin what was bound t happen- Never never could the greatest prophesizor ever guess it- There was not such a thing as an audience- There was not such a thing as performers- Everybody did somethin- An had something t say about somethin- I remember Hugh who wore different kinda clothes then but still shouted an tongue twisted flowin lines a poetry that anybody who could be struck by the sounds 'f a rock hittin a brick wall could understand- I remember Luke playin his banjo and singin "East Virginia" with a tone as soft as the snow outside an "Mr. Garfield" with a bitin touch as hard as the stovepipe on the inside- An Dave singin "House a the Risin Sun" with his back leaned against the bricks an words runnin out in a lonesome hungry growlin whisper that any girl with her face hid in the dark could understand- Paul then was a guitar player singer comedian- But not the funny ha ha kind- His funnyness could only be defined an described by the word "hip" or "hyp"- A combination a Charlie Chaplin Jonathan Winters and Peter Lorre- Maybe it was that nite that somebody flicked a piece a card- board in fron a the tiny spotlight an he made quick jerky movements on the stage and everybody's eyes was seein first hand a silent movie for real- The bearded villan 'f an out a print picture- There aint room enuff on thepaper t tell about everybody that was there an exactly what they did- Every nite was a true high degree novel- Anyway it was one a these nites when Paul said "Yuh gotta now hear me an Peter an Mary sing" Mary's hair was down almost t her waist then- An Peter's beard was only about half grown- An the Gaslight stage was smaller An the song they sung was younger- But the walls shook An everybody smiled- An everybody felt good- An down there approval didn't come with the clappin a hands at the end 'f the song- It came burstin out anytime any way it felt like burstin out- An they were approved- By the people watchin 'm and by 'mselves- Which really was one- An that's where the beginnin was at- Inside them walls 'f a subterranean world- But it's a concrete kind a beginnin- It's concrete cause it's close- An that feelin aint t be forgotten- Yuh carry it with yuh- It's a feelin that's born an not bought An it can't be taught- An by livin with it yuh learn t see and know it in other people- T sing an speak as one yuh gotta think as one- An yuh gotta believe as one- An yuh gotta feel as one- An Peter an Paul and Mary're now carryin the feelin that was inside them walls up the steps t the whole outside world- The rooster never crowed on MacDougal Street- There was no dew on the grass an the sun never came shinin over the mountain- There was nothin t tell yuh it was morning cept the pins and needles feelin in yer arms an legs from stayin up all nite- But all 'f us find our way a knowing when it's mornin- An once yuh know the feelin it don't change- It can only grow- For Peter's grown An Paul's grown An Mary's grown An the times've grown Aus Songtexte Mania