10/11/19

Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands - Bob Dylan

With your mercury mouth in the missionary times,

And your eyes like smoke and your prayers like

rhymes,

And your silver cross, and your voice like chimes,

Oh, who among them do they think could bury you?

With your pockets well protected at last,

And your streetcar visions which you place on the

grass,

And your flesh like silk, and your face like glass,

Who among them do they think could carry 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?

With your sheets like metal and your belt like lace,

And your deck of cards missing the jack and the ace,

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?

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, my Arabian drums,

Should I leave them by your gate,

Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?

With your sheet-metal memory of Cannery Row,

And your magazine-husband who one day just had to

go,

And your gentleness now, which you just can't help

but show,

Who among them do you think would employ you?

Now you stand with your thief, you're on his parole

With your holy medallion which your fingertips fold,

And your saintlike face and your ghostlike soul,

Oh, who among them do you think could destroy 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?

Gordon Shumway

... ALF's body is covered with fur and he has a rippled snout, facial moles and eight stomachs. His heart (if he only has one) is apparently located in his right ear. He likes to burp and eat cats, and can whistle without opening his mouth. He had a best friend on his home planet named Malhar Naik. He has friends named Skip, Rick, Stella, and a girlfriend named Rhonda, all of whom also escaped the explosion. He attended high school for 122 years and was captain of a "Bouillabaisseball team", a game played on ice using seafood as a ball.

ALF is troublesome, sarcastic, slovenly and cynical, and sometimes puts himself at the risk of being discovered while perpetrating some of his often-unintentional pranks...

(en.wikipedia.org)

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