Oh, hear this Robert Zimmerman
I wrote a song for you
About a strange young man called Dylan
With a voice like sand and glue
Some words of truthful vengeance

They could pin us to the floor
Brought a few more people on
And put the fear in a whole lot more

Ah, Here she comes
Here she comes
Here she comes again
The same old painted lady
From the brow of a superbrain
She´ll scratch this world to pieces
As she comes on like a friend
But a couple of songs
From your old scrapbook
Could send her home again

You gave your heart to every bedsit room
At least a picture on the wall
And you sat behind a million pair of eyes

And told them how they saw
Then we lost your train of thought
The paintings are all your own
While troubles are rising
We´d rather be scared
Together than alone

Ah, Here she comes
Here she comes
Here she comes again
The same old painted lady
From the brow of a superbrain
She´ll scratch this world to pieces
As she comes on like a friend
But a couple of songs
From your old scrapbook
Could send her home again

Aoo

Now hear this Robert Zimmerman
Though I don´t suppose we´ll meet
Ask your good friend Dylan
If he´d gaze a while down the old street
Tell him we´ve lost his poems
So they´re writing on the walls
Give us back our unity
Give us back our family
You´re every nation´s refugee
Don´t leave us with their sanity

Ah, Here she comes
Here she comes
Here she comes again
The same old painted lady
From the brow of a superbrain

She´ll scratch this world to pieces
As she comes on like a friend
But a couple of songs
From your old scrapbook
Could send her home again
Come on
A couple of songs
From your old scrapbook
Could send her home again
Oh, here she comes, (oh) here she comes
Oh, here she comes (oh)