[Originally by Bob Dylan]

When you're lost in the rain in Juarez

And it's Eastertime too
And your gravity fails
And negativity don't pull you through

Don't put on any airs
When you're down on Rue Morgue Avenue
They got some hungry women there

And they really make a mess outa you.

Now if you see Saint Annie

Please tell her thanks a lot
I cannot move
My fingers are all in a knot

I don't have the strength
To get up and take another shot
And my best friend, my doctor

Won't even say what it is I've got.

Sweet Melinda

The peasants call her the goddess of gloom
She speaks good English
And she invites you up into her room

And you're so kind
And careful not to go to her too soon
And she takes your voice

And leaves you howling at the moon.

Up on Housing Project Hill

It's either fortune or fame
You must pick up one or the other
Though neither of them are to be what they claim

If you're lookin' to get silly
You better go back to from where you came
Because the cops don't need you

And man they expect the same.
Now all the authorities
They just stand around and boast

How they blackmailed the sergeant-at-arms
Into leaving his post
And picking up Angel who

Just arrived here from the coast
Who looked so fine at first
But left looking just like a ghost.


I started out on burgundy
But soon hit the harder stuff

Everybody said they'd stand behind me
When the game got rough
But the joke was on me

There was nobody even there to bluff
I'm going back to New York City
I do believe I've had enough.