New Statesman Competition No. 4444 by Jersey
We’d like a song by Bob Dylan about getting the Nobel Prize in Literature, which he has just been awarded, or the words of his acceptance speech.

I Want You, Nobel

The fading hippies wisely smile.
The shrewd professor toasts my style.
I've got 'em all convinced that I'll refuse you.
But though the phone calls draw a yawn,
The letters scattered on the lawn,
They're crazy if they think I'm gonna lose you.

I want you. I want you. I want you, Nobel.
Nobel, I want you.

The Swedes are coming all unglued.
They think I'm feigning slumber.
But I do not mean to be rude,
I've only lost their number.

The Poet labors like the Smith.
His dark enigma sounds like pith.
The Duchess listens, nodding with a flat eye.
Her doomed elixir's thick and pure.
She warns there isn't any cure.
(The reason it's all so obscure is that I

I want you. I want you. I want you, Nobel.)
Nobel, I want you.