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Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands
por
Bob Dylan
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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?
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