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Usa A− / A+ para ajustar el tamañoSong For Bob Dylan
Oh, hear this Robert ZimmermanI wrote a song for youAbout a strange young man called DylanWith a voice like sand and glueSome words of truthful vengeanceThey could pin us to the floorBrought a few more people onAnd put the fear in a whole lot moreAh, Here she comesHere she comesHere she comes againThe same old painted ladyFrom the brow of a superbrainShe'll scratch this world to piecesAs she comes on like a friendBut a couple of songsFrom your old scrapbookCould send her home againYou gave your heart to every bedsit roomAt least a picture on the wallAnd you sat behind a million pair of eyesAnd told them how they sawThen we lost your train of thoughtThe paintings are all your ownWhile troubles are risingWe'd rather be scaredTogether than aloneAh, Here she comesHere she comesHere she comes againThe same old painted ladyFrom the brow of a superbrainShe'll scratch this world to piecesAs she comes on like a friendBut a couple of songsFrom your old scrapbookCould send her home againAooNow hear this Robert ZimmermanThough I don't suppose we'll meetAsk your good friend DylanIf he'd gaze a while down the old streetTell him we've lost his poemsSo they're writing on the wallsGive us back our unityGive us back our familyYou're every nation's refugeeDon't leave us with their sanityAh, Here she comesHere she comesHere she comes againThe same old painted ladyFrom the brow of a superbrainShe'll scratch this world to piecesAs she comes on like a friendBut a couple of songsFrom your old scrapbookCould send her home againCome onA couple of songsFrom your old scrapbookCould send her home againOh, here she comes, (oh) here she comes
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