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Visions of Johanna

Bob Dylan

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Visions of Johanna

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Ain't it just like the night to play trickswhen you're tryin' to be so quiet?We sit here stranded,Though we're all doin' our best to deny itAnd Louise holds a handful of rain,temptin' you to defy itLights flicker from the opposite loftIn this room the heat pipes just coughThe country music station plays softBut there's nothing, really nothing to turn offJust Louise and her lover so entwinedAnd these visions of Johanna that conquer my mindIn the empty lotwhere the ladies play blindman's bluffWith the key chainAnd the all-night girlsthey whisper of escapades out on the trainWe can hear the night watchman click his flashlightAsk himself if it's him or them that's really insaneLouise, she's all right, she's just nearShe's delicate and seems like the mirrorBut she just makes it all too concise and too clearThat Johanna's not hereThe ghost of 'lectricity howls in the bones of her faceWhere these visions of Johannahave now taken my placeNow, little boy lost, he takes himself so seriouslyHe brags of his misery,he likes to live dangerouslyAnd when bringing her name upHe speaks of a farewell kiss to meHe's sure got a lotta gall to be so useless and allMuttering small talk at the wallwhile I'm in the hallHow can I explain?Oh, it's so hard to get onAnd these visions of Johanna,They kept me up past the dawnInside the museums, Infinity goes up on trialVoices echo this is what salvationmust be like after a whileBut Mona Lisa musta had the highway bluesYou can tell by the way she smilesSee the primitive wallflower freezeWhen the jelly-faced women all sneezeHear the one with the mustache say,"Jeeze I can't find my knees"Oh, jewels and binocularshang from the head of the muleBut these visions of Johanna,they make it all seem so cruelThe peddler now speaks to the countessWho's pretending to care for himSayin', "Name me someone that's not a parasiteAnd I'll go out and say a prayer for him"But like Louise always says"Ya can't look at much, can ya man?"As she, herself, prepares for himAnd Madonna, she still has not showedWe see this empty cage now corrodeWhere her cape of the stage once had flowedThe fiddler, he now steps to the roadHe writes ev'rything's been returned which was owedOn the back of the fish truck that loadsWhile my conscience explodesThe harmonicas play the skeleton keys and the rainAnd these visions of Johannaare now all that remain
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