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