Changing Of The Guards - Bob Dylan
    Sixteen years
    Sixteen banners united over the fields
    Where the good shepherd grieves
    Desperate men, desperate women divided
    Spreading the wings 'neath the falling leaves.

    Fortune calls
    I stepped forth from the shadows to the market place
    Merchants and thieves hungry for power, my last deal gone down.
    She's smelling sweet like the meadows where she was born
    On mid-summer's eve near the tower.

    The cold-blooded moon
    The captain waits above the celebration
    Sending his thoughts to a beloved maid
    Whose ebony face is beyond communication
    The captain is down but still believing that his love will be repaid.

    They shaved her head
    She was torn between Jupiter and Apollo
    A messenger arrived with a black nightingale
    I seen her on the stairs and i couldn't help but follow
    Follow her down past the fountain where they lifted her veil.

    I stumbled to my feet
    I rode past destruction in the ditches
    With the stitches still mending 'neath a heart-shaped tattoo
    Renegade priests and treacherous young witches
    Were hanging out the flowers that i'd given to you.

    The palaces of mirrors
    Where dog soldiers are reflected
    The endless road and the wailing of chimes
    The empty rooms where her memory is protected
    Where the angels voices whisper to the souls of previous times.

    She wakes him up
    Forty-eight hours later, the sun is breaking
    Near broken chains, mountain laurel and rolling rocks
    She's begging to know what measures he now will be taking
    He's pulling her down and she's clutching onto his long golden locks.

    ``Gentlemen'', he said
    ``I don't need your organization, i've shined your shoes
    I've moved your mountains and marked your cards
    But Eden is burning, either get brave for elimination
    Or else your hearts must have the courage for the changing of the guards.''

    Peace will come
    With tranquility and splendor on the wheels of fire
    But will offer no reward than her false idols fall
    And cruel death's surrender with it's pale ghost retreating
    Between the king and the queen of Swords.

    Marco Giunco
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