Текст: Bob Dylan. Oh Mercy. Disease of Conceit.

There's a whole lot of people suffering tonight
From the disease of conceit
Whole lot of people struggling tonight
From the disease of conceit

Come right down the highway, straight down the line
Rips into your senses, through your body and your mind
Nothing about it that's sweet
The disease of conceit

There's a whole lot of hearts breaking tonight
From the disease of conceit
Whole lot of hearts shaking tonight
From the disease of conceit

Steps into your room, eats into your soul
Over your senses you have no control
Ain't nothing too discreet
About the disease of conceit

There's a whole lot of people dying tonight
From the disease of conceit
Whole lot of people crying tonight
From the disease of conceit

Comes right outta nowhere and you're down for the count
From the outside world the pressure will mount
Turn you into a piece of meat
The disease of conceit

Conceit is a disease
But the doctors got no cure
They done a lot of research on it
But what it is they're still not sure

There's a whole lot of people in trouble tonight
From the disease of conceit
Whole lot of people seein' double tonight
From the disease of conceit

If your delusions of grandeur and an evil eye
Give you the idea that you're too good to die
Then they bury you from your head to your feet
From the disease of conceit