Amado Nervo

Sad-Eyed Lady Of The Lowlands by Bob Dylan

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
And your deck of cards missing the jack and the ace
And your basement clothes and your hollow face
Who among them can think he could outguess you?
With your silhouette when the sunlight dims
Into your eyes where the moonlight swims
And your matchbook songs and your gypsy hymns
Who among them would try to impress 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?

The kings of Tyrus with their convict list
Are waiting in line for their geranium kiss
And you wouldn’t know it would happen like this
But who among them really wants just to kiss you?
With your childhood flames on your midnight rug
And your Spanish manners and your mother’s drugs
And your cowboy mouth and your curfew plugs
Who among them do you think could resist 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?

Oh, the farmers and the businessmen, they all did decide
To show you the dead angels that they used to hide
But why did they pick you to sympathize with their side?
Oh, how could they ever mistake you?
They wished you’d accepted the blame for the farm
But with the sea at your feet and the phony false alarm
And with the child of a hoodlum wrapped up in your arms
How could they ever, ever persuade 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 sheet-metal memory of Cannery Row
And your magazine-husband who one day just had to go
And your gentleness now, which you just can’t help but show
Who among them do you think would employ you?
Now you stand with your thief, you’re on his parole
With your holy medallion which your fingertips fold
And your saintlike face and your ghostlike soul
Oh, who among them do you think could destroy 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?

Copyright © 1966 by Dwarf Music; renewed 1994 by Dwarf Music

Read more: http://www.bobdylan.com/us/songs/sad-eyed-lady-lowlands#ixzz3wuTzvVyE
Bob Dylan Site

Romance In Durango by Bob Dylan and Jacques Levy

Hot chili peppers in the blistering sun
Dust on my face and my cape
Me and Magdalena on the run
I think this time we shall escape

Sold my guitar to the baker’s son
For a few crumbs and a place to hide
But I can get another one
And I’ll play for Magdalena as we ride

No Ilores, mi querida
Dios nos vigila
Soon the horse will take us to Durango
Agarrame, mi vida
Soon the desert will be gone
Soon you will be dancing the fandango

Past the Aztec ruins and the ghosts of our people
Hoofbeats like castanets on stone
At night I dream of bells in the village steeple
Then I see the bloody face of Ramon

Was it me that shot him down in the cantina
Was it my hand that held the gun?
Come, let us fly, my Magdalena
The dogs are barking and what’s done is done

No Ilores, mi querida
Dios nos vigila
Soon the horse will take us to Durango
Agarrame, mi vida
Soon the desert will be gone
Soon you will be dancing the fandango

At the corrida we’ll sit in the shade
And watch the young torero stand alone
We’ll drink tequila where our grandfathers stayed
When they rode with Villa into Torreón

Then the padre will recite the prayers of old
In the little church this side of town
I will wear new boots and an earring of gold
You’ll shine with diamonds in your wedding gown

The way is long but the end is near
Already the fiesta has begun
The face of God will appear
With His serpent eyes of obsidian

No Ilores, mi querida
Dio nos vigila
Soon the horse will take us to Durango
Agarrame, mi vida
Soon the desert will be gone
Soon you will be dancing the fandango

Was that the thunder that I heard?
My head is vibrating, I feel a sharp pain
Come sit by me, don’t say a word
Oh, can it be that I am slain?

Quick, Magdalena, take my gun
Look up in the hills, that flash of light
Aim well my little one
We may not make it through the night

No Ilores, mi querida
Dios nos vigila
Soon the horse will take us to Durango
Agarrame, mi vida
Soon the desert will be gone
Soon you will be dancing the fandango

Copyright © 1975 by Ram's Horn Music; renewed 2003 by Ram’s Horn Music

Bob Dylan

Somos Más Americanos

Ya me gritaron mil veces que me regrese a mi tierra,

Porque aquí no quepo yo

Quiero recordarle al gringo: Yo no crucé la frontera, la frontera me
cruzó.

América nació libre, el hombre la dividió. Ellos pintaron la raya, para
que yo la brincara y me llaman invasor es un error bien marcado
nos quitaron ocho estados quien es aquí el invasor. Soy extranjero en
mi tierra, y no vengo a darles guerra, soy hombre trabajador.

Y si no miente la historia, aquí se asentó en la gloria la poderosa nación
entre guerreros valientes, indios de dos continentes, mezclados
con español. Y si a los siglos nos vamos: somos más americanos,
somos más americanos que el hijo del anglo-sajón.

Nos compraron sin dinero las aguas del río bravo. Y nos quitaron a
Texas, Nuevo México, Arizona y Colorado. También voló California y
Nevada con Utah no se llenaron, el estado de Wyoming, también
nos lo arrebataron Yo soy la sangre del indio Soy latino soy mestizo
Somos de todos colores Y de todos los oficios Y si contamos los siglos
Aunque le duela al vecino Somos más americanos Que todititos los
gringos.

Lyrics

Azril Bacal

Ave de paso

me poso en días que

fluyen sin pausa

Jonas Mekas

 “I worked all my life to become young 
 no, you can’t persuade me to get old 
 I will die twenty seven.”

Juan Felipe Herrera