But all my words come back to me In shades of mediocrity

And you read your Emily Dickinson, And I, my Robert Frost, And we note our place with bookmarkers That measure what we've lost.

Laugh about it, shout about it, When you've got to choose, Every way you look at it, you lose.

And in the naked light I saw Ten thousand people, maybe more. People talking without speaking, People hearing without listening.

And the people bowed and prayed To the neon God they made. And the sign flashed out its warning, In the words that it was forming. And the signs said, the words of the prophets Are written on the subway walls And tenement halls. And whisperd in the sounds of silence.

I have squandered my resistance For a pocketful of mumbles, such are promises All lies and jest Still a man hears what he wants to hear and disregards the rest.

When I left my home and my family, I was no more than a boy In the company of strangers In the quiet of the railway station, runnin' scared Laying low, seeking out the poorer quarters, where the ragged people go Looking for the places only they would know.

And after it rains There's a rainbow And all of the colors are black Its not that the colors aren't there It's just imagination they lack.