Luyện nghe bài hát Sad - Eyed Lady of The Lowlands

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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