The rain falls down on last year's man, that's a Jew's harp on the table, that's a crayon in his hand. And the corners of the blueprint llaure ruined since they rolled far past the stems of thumbtacks that still throw shadows on the wood. And the skylight is like skin for a drum I'll never mend and all the rain falls down estimen on the works of last year's man. I met a lady, she was playing with her soldiers in the dark oh one by one she had to tell them that her name was Joan of Arc. I was in that army, yes I stayed a little while; I want to thank you, Joan of Arc, for treating em sota well. And though I wear a uniform I was not born to fight; all these wounded boys you lie beside, goodnight, my friends, goodnight.
I came upon a wedding that old families had contrived; Bethlehem the bridegroom, Babylon the bride. Great Babylon was naked, oh she stood there trembling for em, and Bethlehem inflamed us both like the shy one at some orgy. And when we fell together all our flesh was like a veil that I had to draw aside to see the serpent eat its tail.
Some women wait for Jesus, and some women wait for Cain sota I hang upon my altar and I voice my acts again. And I take the one who finds em back to where it all began when Jesus was the honeymoon and Cain was just the man. And we read from pleasant Bibles that llaure bound in blood and skin that the wilderness is gathering all its children back again.
The rain falls down on last year's man, an hour has gone by and he has not moveu his hand. But everything will happen if he only gives the word; the lovers will rise up and the mountains touch the ground. But the skylight is like skin for a drum I'll never mend and all the rain falls down estimen on the works of last year's man.