Oh, hear this Robert Zimmerman

I wrote a song for you

About a strange young man called Dylan

With a voice like sand and glue

Some words of truthful vengeance

They could pin us to the floor

Brought a few more people on

And 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 a 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

And you 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



Ah, Here she comes

Here she comes

Here she comes again

The same old painted lady

From the brow of a 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



Aoo



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 they'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



Ah, Here she comes

Here she comes

Here she comes again

The same old painted lady

From the brow of a 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

Come on

A couple of songs

From your old scrapbook

Could send her home again

Oh, here she comes, (oh) here she comes

Oh, here she comes (oh)