Текст песни Bowie, David - Song For Bob Dylan

(VII) (VII)
        (VII)   

Hear this Robert Zimmerman
 (VII) (VII)
I wrote a song for you
About a strange young man called Dylan
 (VII)
With a voice like sand and glue
Some words in truthful vengeance
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 an 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

Repeat intro

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 they'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 the superbrain
She 'll scratch this world to pieces
As she comes on like an friend
But a couple of songs
From your old scrapbook
Could send her home again

Couple of songs
From your old scrapbook
Could send here home again
Ah, here she comes
Here she comes
Here she comes

   (VII) (VII)