Just Like Tom Thumb's Blues, © 1965 by Bob Dylan
 
When you're lost in the rain in Juarez and it's Easter time too
And your gravity fails and negativity don't pull you through
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 outa you

Sweet Melinda, the peasants call her the goddess of doom
She speaks good English and she invites you up into her room
And you're so kind, too careful not to go to her too soon
Then she steals your voice and leaves you howling at the moon

Up on housing project hill it's either fortune or fame
You must pick one or the other though neither of them is what they claim
If you're lookin' to get silly you'd better go back to from where you came
Because the cops don't need you and man they expect the same

I started out on burgundy then I soon hit the harder stuff
Everybody said they'd stand behind me when the game got rough
But the joke was on me, there was nobody there to even call my bluff
I'm going back to New York City I do believe I've had enough
I'm going back to New York City I do believe I've had enough