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Join Gymnasts and Olya MSN Groups

With your mecury 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 drum, 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 outguessyou? 

57 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 come, 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 just wants 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 doyou 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, every persuade you? Sad-eyed lady of the Lowlands 

8 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, 

81 And your magazine-husband who one day just had to go, And your gentleness now which you just can't help but show 

100 - Who among them do you think would employ you? 

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

With your holy medallion which your fingertips fold, 

And your saint-like face and your ghost-like 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,