Joan Baez

Words and Music by Bob Dylan
I dreamed I saw St. Augustine alive as you our me,
Tearing through these quarters in the utmost misery.
With a blanket underneath his arm and coat solid gold,
Searching for the very souls whom already had been sold.
"Arise, arise," he cried so loud with a voice without restraint.
"Come out, you gifted kings and queens and hear my sad complaint.