Song for Bob Dylan

Ah, 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 had 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 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

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 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

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

Ah, a couple of songs from your old scrapbook could send her home again

Oh, here she comes
Ooh, here she comes
Oh, here she comes
Ooh