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    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
    Some 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 the 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

    Aoo

    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
    Come on
    A couple of songs
    From your old scrapbook
    Could send her home again
    Oh, here she comes, (oh) here she comes

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    Todas as letras de David Bowie

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