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
