Luyện nghe bài hát Sad - Eyed Lady of The Lowlands

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

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

With your like metal and your belt like lace,
And your deck of cards the jack and the ace,
And your clothes and your hollow face,
Who among them can think he could outguess
With your when the sunlight dims
Into eyes where the moonlight swims,
And your match-book songs and your hymns,
Who among would 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, sad-eyed lady, I wait?

The kings of Tyrus with their convict
Are in line for their geranium kiss,
And you wouldn't know it would happen this,
But who them really wants just to kiss you?
your childhood flames on your midnight rug,
And your Spanish manners and your drugs,
And cowboy mouth and your curfew plugs,
Who them do you think could resist you?

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

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

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

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

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