Luyện nghe bài hát Sad - Eyed Lady of The Lowlands

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

Sad-eyed 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?

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

Sad-eyed of the lowlands,
the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes,
My warehouse eyes, my drums,
Should I put them by 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 it would happen like this,
But who them really wants just to kiss you?
With your flames on your midnight rug,
And your manners and your mother's drugs,
And cowboy mouth and your curfew plugs,
Who among them do you think could resist

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

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

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

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