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| Dylan Bob Dylan And The Dead Queen Jane Approximately by Bob Dylan When your mother sends back all your invitations And your father to your sister he explains That you're tired of yourself and all of your creations Won't you come see me, Queen Jane? Won't you come see me, Queen Jane? Now when all of the flower ladies want back what they have lent you And the smell of their roses does not remain And all of your children start to resent you Won't you come see me, Queen Jane? Won't you come see me, Queen Jane? Now when all the clowns that you have commissioned Have died in battle or in vain And you're sick of all this repetition Won't you come see me, Queen Jane? Won't you come see me, Queen Jane? When all of your advisers heave their plastic At your feet to convince you of your pain Trying to prove that your conclusions should be more drastic Won't you come see me, Queen Jane? Won't you come see me, Queen Jane? Now when all the bandits that you turned your other cheek to All lay down their bandanas and complain And you want somebody you don't have to speak to Won't you come see me, Queen Jane? Won't you come see me, Queen Jane? |
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