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Visions of johanna |
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Bob Dylan |
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Ain't it just like the night to play tricks when you're tryin' to be so quiet? |
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We sit here stranded, though we're all doin' our best to deny it |
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And Louise holds a handful of rain, temptin' you to defy it |
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Lights flicker from the opposite loft |
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In this room the heat pipes just cough |
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The country music station plays soft |
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But there's nothing, really nothing to turn off |
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Just Louise and her lover so entwined |
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And these visions of Johanna that conquer my mind |
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In the empty lot where the ladies play blindman's bluff with the key chain |
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And the all-night girls they whisper of escapades out on the "D" train |
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We can hear the night watchman click his flashlight |
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Ask himself if it's him or them that's really insane |
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Louise, she's all right, she's just near |
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She's delicate and seems like the mirror |
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But she just makes it all too concise and too clear |
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That Johanna's not here |
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The ghost of 'lectricity howls in the bones of her face |
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Where these visions of Johanna have now taken my place |
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Now, little boy lost, he takes himself so seriously |
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He brags of his misery, he likes to live dangerously |
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And when bringing her name up |
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He speaks of a farewell kiss to me |
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He's sure got a lotta gall to be so useless and all |
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Muttering small talk at the wall while I'm in the hall |
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How can I explain? |
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Oh, it's so hard to get on |
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And these visions of Johanna, they kept me up past the dawn |
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Inside the museums, Infinity goes up on trial |
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Voices echo this is what salvation must be like after a while |
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But Mona Lisa must had the highway blues |
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You can tell by the way she smiles |
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See the primitive wallflower freeze |
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When the jelly-faced women all sneeze |
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Hear the one with the mustache say, "Jeeze |
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I can't find my knees" |
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Oh, jewels and binoculars hang from the head of the mule |
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But these visions of Johanna, they make it all seem so cruel |
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The peddler now speaks to the countess who's pretending to care for him |
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Sayin', "Name me someone that's not a parasite and I'll go out and say a prayer for him" |
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But like Louise always says |
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"Ya can't look at much, can ya man?" |
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As she, herself, prepares for him |
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And Madonna, she still has not showed |
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We see this empty cage now corrode |
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Where her cape of the stage once had flowed |
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The fiddler, he now steps to the road |
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He writes ev'rything's been returned which was owed |
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On the back of the fish truck that loads |
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While my conscience explodes |
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The harmonicas play the skeleton keys and the rain |
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And these visions of Johanna are now all that remain |
