It ain’t no use to sit and wonder why, babe / If you don’t know by now / An’ it ain’t no use to sit and wonder why, babe / It’ll never do somehow
Baixar Mais Tocadas: músicas de Bob Dylan
Mama, take this badge off of me / I can’t use it anymore / It’s gettin’ dark, too dark to see / Feel like I’m knockin’ on heaven’s door
Down the street the dogs are barkin’ / And the day is a-gettin’ dark. / As the night comes in a-fallin’ / The dogs ‘ll lose their bark
Well, I took me a woman late last night / I’s three-fourths drunk she looked all right / ‘Til she started peelin’ off her onion gook / She took off her wig, said, “How do I look” ?
There must be some way out of here / Said the joker to the thief / There’s too much confusion / I can’t get no relief
They’re selling postcards of the hanging / They’re painting the passports brown / The beauty parlor is filled with sailors / The circus is in town
I knew a man Bojangles and he’d dance for you / In worn out shoes / Silver hair, ragged shirt and baggy pants / That old soft shoe
How many roads must a man walk down / Before you can call him a man? / Yes, and how many seas must a white dove sail / Before she sleeps in the sand?
I married Isis on the fifth day of May / But I could not hold on to her very long / So I cut off my hair and I rode straight away / For the wild unknown country where I could not go wrong
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 dimsInto 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 listAre 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 decideTo 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, 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 paroleWith your holy medallion which your fingertips fold,And your saint like face and your ghostlike soul,Oh, who among them do you think could destroy youSad-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?