When you're lost in the rain in Juarez
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And it's Eastertime too
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And your gravity fails
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And negativity don't pull you through
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Don't put on any airs
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When you're down on Rue Morgue Avenue
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They got some hungry women there
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And they really make a mess outa you.
|
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Now if you see Saint Annie
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Please tell her thanks a lot
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I cannot move
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My fingers are all in a knot
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I don't have the strength
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To get up and take another shot
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And my best friend, my doctor
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Won't even say what it is I've got.
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Sweet Melinda
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The peasants call her the goddess of gloom
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She speaks good English
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And she invites you up into her room
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And you're so kind
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And careful not to go to her too soon
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And she takes your voice
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And leaves you howling at the moon.
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Up on Housing Project Hill
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It's either fortune or fame
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You must pick up one or the other
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Though neither of them are to be what they claim
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If you're lookin' to get silly
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You better go back to from where you came
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Because the cops don't need you
|
And man they expect the same.
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Now all the authorities
|
They just stand around and boast
|
How they blackmailed the sergeant-at-arms
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Into leaving his post
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And picking up Angel who
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Just arrived here from the coast
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Who looked so fine at first
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But left looking just like a ghost.
|
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I started out on burgundy
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But soon hit the harder stuff
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Everybody said they'd stand behind me
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When the game got rough
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But the joke was on me
|
There was nobody even there to bluff
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I'm going back to New York City
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I do believe I've had enough.
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-----------------
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Just Like Tom Thumb's Blues
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| Bob Dylan |
