Bob Dylan - Sad Eyed Lady Of The Lowlands

Where the sad-eyed prophet says
that no man comes,

My warehouse eyes,
With your mercury mouth
my Arabian drums,
in the missionary times,
And your eyes like smoke
Should I leave them by your gate,
and your prayers like rhymes,
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?
And your silver cross,
and your voice like chimes,

With your sheet-metal
Oh, who among them
memory of Cannery Row,
do they think could bury you?
And your magazine-husband
With your pockets
who one day just had to go,
well protected at last,
And your gentleness now,
And your streetcar visions
which you just can't help but show,
which you place on the grass,
Who among them
And your flesh like silk,
do you think would employ you?
and your face like glass,
Now you stand with your thief,
Who among them
you're on his parole
do they think could carry you?
With your holy medallion
Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands,
which your fingertips fold,
And your saintlike face
Where the sad-eyed prophet says
and your ghostlike soul,
that no man comes,
Oh, who among them
My warehouse eyes,
do you think could destroy you
my Arabian drums,
Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands,
Should I leave them by your gate,
Where the sad-eyed prophet says
that no man comes,
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?
My warehouse eyes,
my Arabian drums,

With your sheets like metal
and your belt like lace,
And your deck of cards missing
Should I leave them by your gate,
the jack and the ace,
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?
And your basement clothes
and your hollow face,

Who among them can think
he could outguess you?
With your silhouette
when the sunlight dims
Into your eyes where the
moonlight swims,
And your match-book songs
and your gypsy hymns,
Who among them
would try to impress you?
Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands,
Where the sad-eyed prophet says
that no man comes,
My warehouse eyes,
my Arabian drums,
Should I leave them by your gate,
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?

The kings of Tyrus
with their convict list
Are waiting in line
for their geranium kiss,
And you wouldn't know
it would happen like this,
But who among them
really wants just to kiss you?
With your childhood
flames on your midnight rug,
And your Spanish manners
and your mother's drugs,
And your cowboy mouth
and your curfew plugs,
Who among them
do you think could resist you?
Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands,
Where the sad-eyed prophet says
that no man comes,
My warehouse eyes,
my Arabian drums,
Should I leave them by your gate,
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?

Oh, the farmers and the businessmen,
they all did decide
To show you the dead angels
that they used to hide.
But why did they pick you
to sympathize with their side?
Oh, how could they ever mistake you?
They wished you'd accepted
the blame for the farm,
But with the sea at your feet
and the phony false alarm,
And with the child of a hoodlum
wrapped up in your arms,
How could they ever,
ever persuade you?
Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands,

Where the sad-eyed prophet says
that no man comes,

My warehouse eyes,
With your mercury mouth
my Arabian drums,
in the missionary times,
And your eyes like smoke
Should I leave them by your gate,
and your prayers like rhymes,
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?
And your silver cross,
and your voice like chimes,

With your sheet-metal
Oh, who among them
memory of Cannery Row,
do they think could bury you?
And your magazine-husband
With your pockets
who one day just had to go,
well protected at last,
And your gentleness now,
And your streetcar visions
which you just can't help but show,
which you place on the grass,
Who among them
And your flesh like silk,
do you think would employ you?
and your face like glass,
Now you stand with your thief,
Who among them
you're on his parole
do they think could carry you?
With your holy medallion
Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands,
which your fingertips fold,
And your saintlike face
Where the sad-eyed prophet says
and your ghostlike soul,
that no man comes,
Oh, who among them
My warehouse eyes,
do you think could destroy you
my Arabian drums,
Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands,
Should I leave them by your gate,
Where the sad-eyed prophet says
that no man comes,
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?
My warehouse eyes,
my Arabian drums,

With your sheets like metal
and your belt like lace,
And your deck of cards missing
Should I leave them by your gate,
the jack and the ace,
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?
And your basement clothes
and your hollow face,

Who among them can think
he could outguess you?
With your silhouette
when the sunlight dims
Into your eyes where the
moonlight swims,
And your match-book songs
and your gypsy hymns,
Who among them
would try to impress you?
Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands,
Where the sad-eyed prophet says
that no man comes,
My warehouse eyes,
my Arabian drums,
Should I leave them by your gate,
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?

The kings of Tyrus
with their convict list
Are waiting in line
for their geranium kiss,
And you wouldn't know
it would happen like this,
But who among them
really wants just to kiss you?
With your childhood
flames on your midnight rug,
And your Spanish manners
and your mother's drugs,
And your cowboy mouth
and your curfew plugs,
Who among them
do you think could resist you?
Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands,
Where the sad-eyed prophet says
that no man comes,
My warehouse eyes,
my Arabian drums,
Should I leave them by your gate,
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?

Oh, the farmers and the businessmen,
they all did decide
To show you the dead angels
that they used to hide.
But why did they pick you
to sympathize with their side?
Oh, how could they ever mistake you?
They wished you'd accepted
the blame for the farm,
But with the sea at your feet
and the phony false alarm,
And with the child of a hoodlum
wrapped up in your arms,
How could they ever,
ever persuade you?
Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands,

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