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作词 : Bob Dylan |
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作曲 : Bob Dylan |
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Ain't it just like the night to play tricks |
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When you're tryin' to be so quiet |
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We sit here stranded though we're all doing our best to deny it |
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And Louise holds a handful of rain tempting you to defy it |
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Lights flicker from the opposite loft |
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In this room the heat pipes just cough |
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The country music station plays soft |
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But there's nothing really nothing to turn off |
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Just Louise and her lover so entwined |
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And these visions of Johanna that conquer my mind |
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In the empty lot where the ladies play blindman's bluff with the key chain |
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And the all night girls they whisper of escapades out on the d train |
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We can hear the night watchman click his flashlight |
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Ask himself if it's him or them that's really insane |
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Louise she's all right she's just near |
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She's delicate and seems like the mirror |
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But she just makes it all too concise and too clear |
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That Johanna's not here |
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The ghost of electricity howls in the bones of her face |
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Where these visions of Johanna have now taken my place |
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Now little boy lost he takes himself so seriously |
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He brags of his misery he likes to live dangerously |
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And when bringing her name up |
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He speaks of a farewell kiss to me |
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He's sure got a lotta gall to be so useless and all |
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Muttering small talk at the wall while I'm in the hall |
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Oh how can I explain |
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It's so hard to get on |
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And these visions of Johanna they kept me up past the dawn |
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Inside the museums infinity goes up on trial |
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Voices echo this is what salvation must be like after a while |
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But Mona Lisa must had the highway blues |
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You can tell by the way she smiles |
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See the primitive wallflower freeze |
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When the jelly faced women all sneeze |
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Hear the one with the mustache say jeez |
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I can't find my knees |
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Oh jewels and binoculars hang from the head of the mule |
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But these visions of Johanna they make it all seem so cruel |
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The peddler now speaks to the countess who's pretending to care for him |
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Saying name me someone that's not a parasite |
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And I'll go out and say a prayer for him |
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But like Louise always says |
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Ya can't look at much can ya man |
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As she herself prepares for him |
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And madonna she still has not showed |
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We see this empty cage now corrode |
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Where her cape of the stage once had flowed |
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The fiddler he now steps to the road |
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He writes everything's been returned which was owed |
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On the back of the fish truck that loads |
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While my conscience explodes |
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The harmonicas play the skeleton keys and the rain |
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And these visions of Johanna are now all that remain |
