“我确实从来都只是我自己,一个民谣音乐家,用噙着泪水的眼睛注视灰色的烟雾,写一些在朦胧光亮中漂浮的歌谣。”——鲍勃·迪伦哀伤,雨季。一把吉他,一腔热血,方写成风中飘着的他永恒的歌与诗。初听鲍勃·迪伦的歌时,轻快而不失悲伤,朦胧而不失真实是我对其的第一印象。我只能云,世界以痛吻我,我却报之以歌,风未停,答案尚在风中飘荡。风总是无形的,待到夜深时,何能知道它的存在?唯有花丛中的暗香拂过鼻尖,唯有耳畔传来叶片沙沙响声时, “I was really just myself, a folk musician, watching gray smoke with tears in my eyes and writing ballads floating in the dim light.” - Bob Dylan is sad, the rainy season. A guitar, a chamber of blood, written in the wind floating his eternal songs and poems. First heard Bob Dylan’s song, brisk yet sad, hazy without losing the truth is my first impression of it. I can only cloud, the world kiss me with pain, but I reported the song, the wind did not stop, the answer is still floating in the wind. The wind is always invisible, until late at night, how can we know its existence? Only the flowers in the nose of incense blowing through the nose, only the ears came rustling leaves,