Текст песни Song for Bob Dylan (David Bowie) с переводом

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 we’re writing on the walls

Give us back our unity

And 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

Ah, a couple of songs from your old scrapbook

Could send her home again

Oh, here she comes, ooh, here she comes

Oh, here she comes, ooh

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