Luyện nghe bài hát Sad - Eyed Lady of The Lowlands

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

lady 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 sheets like metal and belt like lace,
And your deck of cards the jack and the ace,
And your basement clothes and your face,
Who among them can think he could outguess
With silhouette when the sunlight dims
Into your eyes where the swims,
And your match-book and your gypsy hymns,
Who them would try to impress you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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