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,