Buckets of Rain (written by Bob Dylan)

Now that the newness of the fresh vegetation has worn off
and the spring cool has turned to summer swelter
my mind is at risk of being swallowed up
by the laziness of my body and the indecision of my soul
hot days and humid nights force anxious moments
 
Now that you see my soul through the peephole...
Do you believe me when I say that I'm not an angel?
can't force laughter in public spaces
can't stop from being so damn serious