Song For Bob Dyran

Hear this Robert Zimmerman I wrote a song for you About a strange young man called Dylan With a voice like sand and glue His words in truthful vengeance They could pin us to the floor Brought a few more people on Put the fear in a whole lot more Ah, Here she comes Here she comes Here she comes again The same old painted lady From the brow of the superbrain She'll scratch this world to pieces As she comes on like a friend But a couple of songs From your old scrapbook Could send her home again You gave your heart to every bedsit room At least a picture on the wall Sat behind a million pair of eyes And told them how they saw Then we lost your train of thought The paintings are all your own While troubles are rising We'd rather be scared Together than alone Here she comes The same old painted lady From the brow of the superbrain She'll scratch this world to pieces As she comes on like a friend But a couple of songs From your old scrapbook Could send her home again Now hear this Robert Zimmerman Though I don't suppose we'll meet Ask your good friend Dylan If he'd gaze a while down the old street Tell him we've lost his poems So we're writing on the walls Give us back our unity Give us back our family You're every nation's refugee Don't leave us with their sanity Here she comes The same old painted lady From the brow of the superbrain She'll scratch this world to pieces As she comes on like a friend But a couple of songs From your old scrapbook Could send her home again