Sinking in the splinters of the ecstasy of sound

Here's a 1966 song I discovered late (via the Troubadours Of Folk comp), but now rate as one of the highlights of the year.



It's like all the best bits of Bob Dylan, where each line in the song could be a song of its own. "Eternal East-West hedge walker turn the Sunday joint","Pop-eyed rabbit medal sucker, whirlwind living drowned", "Polystyrene obelisk your man is on the ground". All lines that leave the listener wanting more.