David Bowie
180426271.gif

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
His 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 my 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

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

A couple of songs
From your old scrapbook
Could send her home again
Oh, here she comes, here she comes
Oh, here she comes, here she comes


Mirror lyrics:

Oh, here she comes, here she comes
Oh, here she comes, here she comes
Could send her home again
From your old scrapbook
A couple of songs

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

Don't leave us with their sanity
You're every nation's refugee
Give us back our family
Give us back our unity
So they're writing on the walls
Tell him we've lost his poems
If he'd gaze a while down the old street
Ask your good friend Dylan
Though I don't suppose we'll meet
Now hear this Robert Zimmerman

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

Together than alone
We'd rather be scared
While troubles are rising
The paintings are all your own
Then we lost your train of thought
And told them how they saw
And you sat behind a million pair of eyes
At least a picture on my wall
You gave your heart to every bedsit room

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

And put the fear in a whole lot more
Brought a few more people on
They could pin us to the floor
His words of truthful vengeance
With a voice like sand and glue
About a strange young man called Dylan
I wrote a song for you
Oh, hear this Robert Zimmerman


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