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.]