Columbia Records Pressing Plant (Pitman, NJ) - Sad-Eyed Lady Of The Lowlands lyrics

With your mercury mouth in the missionary times And your eyes like smoke and your prayers like rhymes And your silver cross, and your voice like chimes Oh, who do they think could bury you? With your pockets well protected at last And your streetcar visions which ya' place on the gra** And your flesh like silk, and your face like gla** Who could they get to carry you? Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands Where the sad-eyed prophet say that no man comes My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums Should I put them by your gate Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait? With your sheets like metal and your belt like lace And your deck of cards missing the jack and the ace And your basement clothes and your hollow face Who among them can think he could outguess you? With your silhouette when the sunlight dims Into your eyes where the moonlight swims And your matchbook songs and your gypsy hymns Who among them would try to impress you? (Chorus) The kings of Tyrus with their convict list Are waiting in line for their geranium kiss And ya' wouldn't know it woulda' happened like this But a'who among them really wants just to kiss you? With your childhood flames on your midnight rug And your Spanish manners and your mother's d** And your cowboy mouth and your curfew plugs Who among them do ya' think could resist you? Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands Where the sad-eyed prophet say that no man comes My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums Should I leave them by your gate Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait? Oh, the farmers and the businessmen, they all did decide To show you where the dead angels are that they used to hide But why did they pick you to sympathize with their side? How could they ever mistake you? They wished you'd accepted the blame for the farm But with the sea at your feet and the phony false alarm And with the child of the hoodlum wrapped up in your arms How could they ever have persuaded you? (Chorus) With your sheet-metal memory of Cannery Row And your magazine-husband who one day just had to go And your gentleness now, which you just can't help but show Who among them do you think would employ you? Now you stand with your thief, you're on his parole With your holy medallion an' your fingertips now that fold And your saintlike face and your ghost-like soul Who among them could ever think it could destroy you? (Chorus)