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