Sad-Eyed Lady Of The Lowlands

Sad-Eyed Lady Of The Lowlands

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 among them do they think could bury you?
With your pockets well protected at last
And your streetcar visions which you place on the grass
And your flesh like silk, and your face like glass
Who among them do they think could carry you?
Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands
Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes
My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums
Should I leave 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 match-book songs and your gypsy hymns
Who among them would try to impress you?
Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands
Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes
My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums
Should I leave them by your gate
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?
The kings of Tyrus with their convict list
Are waiting in line for their geranium kiss
And you wouldn't know it would happen like this
But 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 drugs
And your cowboy mouth and your curfew plugs
Who among them do you think could resist you?
Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands
Where the sad-eyed prophet says 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 the dead angels that they used to hide
But why did they pick you to sympathize with their side?
Oh, 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 a hoodlum wrapped up in your arms
How could they ever, ever persuade you?
Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands
Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes
My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums
Should I leave them by your gate
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?
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 which your fingertips fold
And your saint like face and your ghostlike soul
Oh, who among them do you think could destroy you
Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands
Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes
My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums
Should I leave them by your gate
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?

Bob Dylan

poetic model : Chris

Tradução Livre :

Com os seus lábios de mercúrio em tempos missionários
E os seus olhos espavoridos feito fumaça,
e as suas orações em harmônicas rimas
E a sua cruz prateada como fiel escudo
e o timbre da sua voz imitando sinos
Oh, quem entre eles poderiam melhor lhe proteger ?
deixar seus bolsos bem protegidos finalmente
E as suas visões de bonde que você projeta sobre a grama
enquanto lê ou trafega enquanto retém ou se entrega
E a sua pele feito seda, e o seu rosto vítreo
Quem entre eles poderiam melhor lhe proteger?
Senhorita de olhos tristes das planícies
Onde o profeta de olhos melancólicos diz
que nenhum homem tem o poder de deter o tempo
mover as montanhas e impedir as circunstâncias
Meus olhos de armazém ora secos ora molhados ,
os meus tambores árabes ora em silêncio ora em exaltação
Devo deixa-los em seu portão? ao seu dispor ?
Ou, senhorita de olhos tristes, eu devo lhe esperar?

Com os seus lençóis cintilantes e o seu cinto entre rendas
e o seu baralho desfalcado de valete e ás
e as suas roupas esquecidas no porão
feito vincos em estranhos vínculos em seu rosto vazio.
Quem entre eles poderia ousar despistar você
com a sua silhueta marcante destacada
quando a luz do sol escurece .
Em seus olhos enquanto a luz agoniza e carboniza caustica
lembrando as suas canções vulneráveis
guardadas em caixas de fósforos
e o seus cânticos de cigana profana ou predestinada .
Quem dentro desse leque de possibilidades poderiam impressionar você ?
Senhorita de olhos tristes das planícies
Onde o profeta de olhos melancólicos diz
que nenhum homem tem o poder de deter o tempo
mover as montanhas e impedir as circunstâncias

Meus olhos de armazém ora secos ora molhados ,
os meus tambores árabes ora em silêncio ora em exaltação
Devo deixa-los em seu portão? ao seu dispor ?
Ou, senhorita de olhos tristes, eu devo lhe esperar?