Brilliant cover by Jesse Welles and  Daniel Donato in Wyoming Aug 9, 2026

Thunder on the Mountain | The Official Bob Dylan Site  

Written by: Bob Dylan

Thunder on the mountain, fires on the moon
There's a ruckus in the alley and the sun will be here soon
Today's the day, gonna grab my trombone and blow
Well, there's hot stuff here and it's everywhere I go
I was thinkin' 'bout Alicia Keys, couldn't keep from crying
When she was born in Hell's Kitchen, I was living down the line
I'm wondering where in the world Alicia Keys could be
I been looking for her even clear through Tennessee
Feel like my soul is beginning to expand
Look into my heart and you will sort of understand
You brought me here, now you're trying to run me away
The writing's on the wall, come read it, come see what it say
 

Thunder on the mountain, rolling like a drum
Gonna sleep over there, that's where the music coming from
I don't need any guide, I already know the way
Remember this, I'm your servant both night and day
The pistols are poppin' and the power is down
I'd like to try somethin' but I'm so far from town
The sun keeps shinin' and the North Wind keeps picking up speed
Gonna forget about myself for a while, gonna go out and see what others need
I've been sitting down studying the art of love
I think it will fit me like a glove
I want some real good woman to do just what I say
Everybody got to wonder what's the matter with this cruel world today
 

Thunder on the mountain rolling to the ground
Gonna get up in the morning walk the hard road down
Some sweet day I'll stand beside my king
I wouldn't betray your love or any other thing
Gonna raise me an army, some tough sons of bitches
I'll recruit my army from the orphanages
I been to St. Herman's church and I've said my religious vows
I've sucked the milk out of a thousand cows
I got the porkchops, she got the pie
She ain't no angel and neither am I
Shame on your greed, shame on your wicked schemes
I'll say this, I don't give a damn about your dreams
 

Thunder on the mountain heavy as can be
Mean old twister bearing down on me
All the ladies of Washington scrambling to get out of town
Looks like something bad gonna happen, better roll your airplane down
Everybody's going and I want to go too
Don't wanna take a chance with somebody new
I did all I could and I did it right there and then
I've already confessed – no need to confess again
Gonna make a lot of money, gonna go up north
I'll plant and I'll harvest what the earth brings forth
The hammer's on the table, the pitchfork's on the shelf
For the love of God, you ought to take pity on yourself 

It’s Alright, Ma (I’m Only Bleeding) | The Official Bob Dylan Site 

Written by: Bob Dylan

Darkness at the break of noon
Shadows even the silver spoon
The handmade blade, the child’s balloon
Eclipses both the sun and moon
To understand you know too soon
There is no sense in trying
 

Pointed threats, they bluff with scorn
Suicide remarks are torn
From the fool’s gold mouthpiece the hollow horn
Plays wasted words, proves to warn
That he not busy being born is busy dying
 

Temptation’s page flies out the door
You follow, find yourself at war
Watch waterfalls of pity roar
You feel to moan but unlike before
You discover that you’d just be one more
Person crying
 

So don’t fear if you hear
A foreign sound to your ear
It’s alright, Ma, I’m only sighing
 

As some warn victory, some downfall
Private reasons great or small
Can be seen in the eyes of those that call
To make all that should be killed to crawl
While others say don’t hate nothing at all
Except hatred
 

Disillusioned words like bullets bark
As human gods aim for their mark
Make everything from toy guns that spark
To flesh-colored Christs that glow in the dark
It’s easy to see without looking too far
That not much is really sacred
 

While preachers preach of evil fates
Teachers teach that knowledge waits
Can lead to hundred-dollar plates
Goodness hides behind its gates
But even the president of the United States
Sometimes must have to stand naked
 

An’ though the rules of the road have been lodged
It’s only people’s games that you got to dodge
And it’s alright, Ma, I can make it
 

Advertising signs they con
You into thinking you’re the one
That can do what’s never been done
That can win what’s never been won
Meantime life outside goes on
All around you
 

You lose yourself, you reappear
You suddenly find you got nothing to fear
Alone you stand with nobody near
When a trembling distant voice, unclear
Startles your sleeping ears to hear
That somebody thinks they really found you
 

A question in your nerves is lit
Yet you know there is no answer fit
To satisfy, insure you not to quit
To keep it in your mind and not forget
That it is not he or she or them or it
That you belong to
 

Although the masters make the rules
For the wise men and the fools
I got nothing, Ma, to live up to
 

For them that must obey authority
That they do not respect in any degree
Who despise their jobs, their destinies
Speak jealously of them that are free
Cultivate their flowers to be
Nothing more than something they invest in
 

While some on principles baptized
To strict party platform ties
Social clubs in drag disguise
Outsiders they can freely criticize
Tell nothing except who to idolize
And then say God bless him
 

While one who sings with his tongue on fire
Gargles in the rat race choir
Bent out of shape from society’s pliers
Cares not to come up any higher
But rather get you down in the hole
That he’s in
 

But I mean no harm nor put fault
On anyone that lives in a vault
But it’s alright, Ma, if I can’t please him
 

Old lady judges watch people in pairs
Limited in sex, they dare
To push fake morals, insult and stare
While money doesn’t talk, it swears
Obscenity, who really cares
Propaganda, all is phony
 

While them that defend what they cannot see
With a killer’s pride, security
It blows the minds most bitterly
For them that think death’s honesty
Won’t fall upon them naturally
Life sometimes must get lonely
 

My eyes collide head-on with stuffed
Graveyards, false gods, I scuff
At pettiness which plays so rough
Walk upside-down inside handcuffs
Kick my legs to crash it off
Say okay, I have had enough
what else can you show me?
 

And if my thought-dreams could be seen
They’d probably put my head in a guillotine
But it’s alright, Ma, it’s life, and life only 

 click for → Weekend with Diane and Bob 

Hints:  ⧫ binoculars ⧫ jewels ⧫ mule ⧫ 4th st ⧫ whistle ⧫ prairie ⧫ train ⧫ pawns

⧫ Pilgrim ⧫ street sign ⧫ roman kings ⧫ dogs running ⧫ pillbox hat

⧫ tambourine man ⧫ buckets ⧫ wheat field ⧫ tombstone ⧫ weight

⧫ cup of coffee ⧫ leather boots ⧫ wind ⧫ wigwam ⧫ bell tower ⧫ chess

⧫ cat ⧫ well ⧫ watchtower ⧫ green mountains ⧫ lily flower ⧫ pond ⧫ train

⧫ sun ⧫ horses ⧫ lily pond ⧫ field of lilies ⧫ lily pads ⧫ flowers 

There's a story behind this photo...

I lived in Columbia, Tennessee at the time when I snapped this Easter time picture. I posted it in a Dylan forum and a short while later one of the group members messaged me. Randy went on to tell me that he frequented this church when he lived in Columbia. Small World. But the story got better when my new friend added that Donnie Herron, Bob Dylan's incredibly talented, multi-instrumentalist band member at the time also lived in Columbia, turns out a few blocks away from me! Keep in mind that Columbia is just a short drive south of Nashville.

He shared a sweet story with me about how Donnie was very approachable and had invited him to his house for coffee and good conversation. 

Since then, I've wondered if Donnie Herron might have had a hand in the church's Easter message.

Coincidentally, since then, Randy and I have bumped into each other at a couple of Dylan concerts, so maybe the story is not over.

 According to legend, in 1993, Bob Dylan traveled to England to visit a friend of his, Eurythmics member Dave Stewart. But due to some mis-steps, he ended up meeting a different Dave instead. 

Here's the original story from 1993 as it appeared in rec.music.dylan, affectionately called RMD:
: Ron Lapworth wrote................
: > Due to overwhelming demand, (well, two people emailed me), I will recount the supposedly true story of when Bob came to London to meet  Dave Stewart. It's a silly little story, with no punchline.
: > Apparently Bob got off the 'plane at Heathrow and jumped into a taxi,
: > giving Dave's address, but for one reason or another, arrived at the
: > wrong house. Living in this house was someone called (coincidentally)
: > Dave, who was (even more coincidentally) a BIG Dylan fan.

No coincidence. I lived in Crouch End for years. Everyone liked Dylan there,
or else they were asked to leave. ;-) Politely but firmly.

: > So Bob knocks on the door, and a Dave's wife answers.

: > "Hi," says Bob, "Is Dave in?"
: > Dumbstruck wife stutters, "No, he's at work, but he won't be long. Do
: > you want to come in and wait?", so in Bob goes, and she puts him in
: > the front room, and makes him a cup of tea or whatever.

At this point, as it is told in the pubs of Crouch End, she thought
she recognised him, but was not sure who he was, so she went to the
LP rack, pulled out an early Dylan LP, held it up in the hallway
and peeked in the sitting room, comparing the two. The two were
similar enough to i.d. him!

: > Soon Dave comes home, and his wife grabs him as he comes through the door.

: > "You'll never guess who's come to see you," she says.
: > "Who?"
: > "BOB DYLAN!!!" screams his wife as quietly as possible.
: > "Don't be stupid," says Dave, "Bob Dylan here?"
: > "Yes! He's in the front room."
: > "I don't believe you."
: > "Take a look!"
: > So in goes Dave, and comes face to face with his hero, who looks up
: > at him, a little confused.

The streets around there can have confusingly similar names, even taxi
drivers mix 'em up, foreign accents and mumbled instructions or no.
Crouch Hall Road, Crouch Hill, Crouch End Hill, and the like... In
fact I am not even certain I got them right, but you get the idea.

Craig
--
Be careful not to touch the wall,
there's a brand new coat of paint,
I'm glad to see you're still alive,
you're lookin' like a saint.