Sad-Eyed Lady of the Lowlands
With your mercury mouth in the missionary timesAnd your eyes like smoke and your prayers like rhymesAnd your silver cross, and your voice like chimesOh, who among them do they think could bury you?With your pockets well protected at lastAnd your streetcar visions which you place on the grassAnd your flesh like silk, and your face like glassWho among them do they think could carry you?Sad-eyed lady of the lowlandsWhere the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comesMy warehouse eyes, my Arabian drumsShould I leave them by your gateOr, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?
With your sheets like metal and your belt like laceAnd your deck of cards missing the jack and the aceAnd your basement clothes and your hollow faceWho among them can think he could outguess you?With your silhouette when the sunlight dimsInto your eyes where the moonlight swimsAnd your matchbook songs and your gypsy hymnsWho among them would try to impress you?Sad-eyed lady of the lowlandsWhere the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comesMy warehouse eyes, my Arabian drumsShould I leave them by your gateOr, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?
The kings of Tyrus with their convict listAre waiting in line for their geranium kissAnd you wouldn’t know it would happen like thisBut who among them really wants just to kiss you?With your childhood flames on your midnight rugAnd your Spanish manners and your mother’s drugsAnd your cowboy mouth and your curfew plugsWho among them do you think could resist you?Sad-eyed lady of the lowlandsWhere the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comesMy warehouse eyes, my Arabian drumsShould I leave them by your gateOr, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?
Oh, the farmers and the businessmen, they all did decideTo show you the dead angels that they used to hideBut why did they pick you to sympathize with their side?Oh, how could they ever mistake you?They wished you’d accepted the blame for the farmBut with the sea at your feet and the phony false alarmAnd with the child of a hoodlum wrapped up in your armsHow could they ever, ever persuade you?Sad-eyed lady of the lowlandsWhere the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comesMy warehouse eyes, my Arabian drumsShould I leave them by your gateOr, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?
With your sheet-metal memory of Cannery RowAnd your magazine-husband who one day just had to goAnd your gentleness now, which you just can’t help but showWho among them do you think would employ you?Now you stand with your thief, you’re on his paroleWith your holy medallion which your fingertips foldAnd your saintlike face and your ghostlike soulOh, who among them do you think could destroy you?Sad-eyed lady of the lowlandsWhere the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comesMy warehouse eyes, my Arabian drumsShould I leave them by your gateOr, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?