Luyện nghe bài hát Sad - Eyed Lady of The Lowlands

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, the farmers and the businessmen, all did decide
To show you the dead angels they used to hide.
But why did they pick you to sympathize their side?
Oh, how could they ever you?
They wished you'd accepted the 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 ever, ever persuade you?

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

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

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