Luyện nghe bài hát Sad - Eyed Lady of The Lowlands

With your mercury mouth in the times,
And your eyes like smoke and prayers like rhymes,
And your silver cross, and your like chimes,
Oh, do they could bury you?
With your well protected at last,
And your streetcar visions which you on the grass,
And your like silk, and your face like glass,
Who could they get to you?

lady of the lowlands,
Where the prophet says that no man comes,
My warehouse eyes, my drums,
I put them by your gate,
Or, sad-eyed lady, I wait?

With sheets like metal and your belt like lace,
And your deck of missing the jack and the ace,
And your basement clothes and hollow face,
Who among can think he could outguess you?
With your silhouette when the sunlight
Into eyes where the moonlight swims,
And your songs and your gypsy hymns,
Who among them try to impress you?

lady of the lowlands,
Where the sad-eyed says that no man comes,
My eyes, my Arabian drums,
I put them by your gate,
Or, lady, should I wait?

The kings of Tyrus with their convict
Are waiting in for their geranium kiss,
And you wouldn't know it would like this,
But who among them really wants just to you?
With your childhood on your midnight rug,
And your manners and your mother's drugs,
And your cowboy and your curfew plugs,
Who among them do you think could you?

lady of the lowlands,
Where the sad-eyed says that no man comes,
My eyes, my Arabian drums,
I leave them by your gate,
Or, sad-eyed lady, I wait?

Oh, the and the businessmen, they all did decide
To show you the dead that they used to hide.
But why did they pick you to sympathize their side?
Oh, how could they mistake you?
They you'd accepted the blame for the farm,
But with the sea at feet and the phony false alarm,
And with the child of a hoodlum wrapped up in arms,
How could they ever, ever you?

Sad-eyed of the lowlands,
Where the sad-eyed says that no man comes,
My eyes, my Arabian drums,
Should I them by your gate,
Or, lady, should I wait?

your sheet-metal memory of Cannery Row,
And your magazine-husband who one day had to go,
And gentleness now, which you just can't help but show,
Who them do you think would employ you?
Now you stand with your thief, you're on his
With your holy which your fingertips fold,
And your saintlike face and your soul,
Oh, who among them do you think could destroy

Sad-eyed of the lowlands,
Where the prophet says that no man comes,
My eyes, my Arabian drums,
Should I them by your gate,
Or, lady, should I wait?