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...[etc.]


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....[etc.]