When you're lost in the rain
In Juarez and it's Easter time, too
And your gravity's down
And negativity don't get you through
Just 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 out of you

If you see Saint Annie
Please tell her thanks a lot
I cannot move, my fingers
They are all even 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 steals your voice
And leaves you screaming at the moon

Up on Housing Project Hill
It's either fortune or fame
You must pick one or the other
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 getting up and leaving his post
And picking up Angel
Who just arrived 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
Yes, but the joke was on me
There was nobody even there to call my bluff
I'm going back to New York City
I do believe I've had enough Writer/s: Bob Dylan
Publisher: Universal Music Publishing Group
Lyrics licensed and provided by LyricFind