Luyện nghe bài hát Sad - Eyed Lady of The Lowlands

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

lady of the lowlands,
Where the prophet 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 your magazine-husband who one day had to go,
And your gentleness now, which you can't help but show,
Who among them do you think employ you?
Now you stand with thief, you're on his parole
With your holy medallion your fingertips fold,
And your saintlike and your ghostlike soul,
Oh, who among them do you could destroy you?

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