Bob Dylan
Visions of Johanna - Bob Dylan
Ainât it just like the night to play tricks when youâre tryin' to be so quiet?
We sit here stranded, though weâre all doinâ our best to deny it
And Louise holds a handful of rain, temptinâ you to defy it
Lights flicker from the opposite loft
In this room the heat pipes just cough
The country music station plays soft
But thereâs nothing, really nothing to turn off
Just Louise and her lover so entwined
And these visions of Johanna that conquer my mind
In the empty lot where the ladies play blindmanâs bluff with the key chain
And the all-night girls they whisper of escapades out on the âDâ train
We can hear the night watchman click his flashlight
Ask himself if itâs him or them thatâs really insane
Louise, sheâs all right, sheâs just near
Sheâs delicate and seems like the mirror
But she just makes it all too concise and too clear
That Johannaâs not here
The ghost of âlectricity howls in the bones of her face
Where these visions of Johanna have now taken my place
Now, little boy lost, he takes himself so seriously
He brags of his misery, he likes to live dangerously
And when bringing her name up
He speaks of a farewell kiss to me
Heâs sure got a lotta gall to be so useless and all
Muttering small talk at the wall while Iâm in the hall
How can I explain?
Oh, itâs so hard to get on
And these visions of Johanna, they kept me up past the dawn
Inside the museums, Infinity goes up on trial
Voices echo this is what salvation must be like after a while
But Mona Lisa musta had the highway blues
You can tell by the way she smiles
See the primitive wallflower freeze
When the jelly-faced women all sneeze
Hear the one with the mustache say, âJeeze
I canât find my kneesâ
Oh, jewels and binoculars hang from the head of the mule
But these visions of Johanna, they make it all seem so cruel
The peddler now speaks to the countess whoâs pretending to care for him
Sayinâ, âName me someone thatâs not a parasite and Iâll go out and say a prayer for himâ
But like Louise always says
âYa canât look at much, can ya man?â
As she, herself, prepares for him
And Madonna, she still has not showed
We see this empty cage now corrode
Where her cape of the stage once had flowed
The fiddler, he now steps to the road
He writes evârythingâs been returned which was owed
On the back of the fish truck that loads
While my conscience explodes
The harmonicas play the skeleton keys and the rain
And these visions of Johanna are now all that remain