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Bryan Ferry These Foolish Things A Hard Rain's A-gonna Fall (dylan) Oh where have you been, my blue eyed son? Where have you been, my darling young one? Iīve stumbled on the side of twelve misty mountains Walked and iīve crawled on six crooked highways Stepped in the middle of seven sad forests Been out in front of a dozen dead oceans Iīve been ten thousand miles in mouth of a graveyard And itīs a hard rainīs a-gonna fall And what did you see, my blue eyed son? What did you see, my darling young one? I saw a new-born baby with wild wolves around it I saw a highway of diamonds with nobody on it I saw a black branch with blood that kept drippinī I saw a room full of men with their hammers a bleedinī A white ladder all covered with water I saw ten thousand talkers whose tongues were all broken I saw guns and sharp swords in the hands of young children And itīs a hard rainīs a-gonna fall And what did you hear, my blue eyed son? What did you hear, my darling young one I heard the sound of thunder that roared out a warning Heard the roar of a wave that could drown the whole world Heard one hundred drummers whose hands were a blazinī Heard ten thousand whisperinī and nobody listeninī Heard one person starve, i heard many people laughinī Heard the song of a poet who died in the gutter Heard the sound of a clown who cried in the alley And itīs a hard rainīs a-gonna fall Oh who you did meet, my blue eyed son? Who did you meet, my darling young one? I met a young child beside a dead pony I met a white man who walked a black dog I met a young woman whose body was burning A young girl, she gave me a rainbow I met one man who was wounded in love Another man who was wounded with hatred And itīs a hard rainīs a-gonna fall Oh what'll you do now, my blue eyed son? What'll you do now, my darling young one? I'm goin´ back out ´fore the rain starts a-fallin´ Walk throught the depths of the deepest black forest Where the people are many and their hands are all empty Where the pellets of poison are flooding their waters Where the home in the valley meets the damp dirty prison Where the executioners face is always well hidden Where hunger is ugly, where souls are forgotten Where black is the colour, and none is the number And iīll tell it and think it and speak it and breathe it And reflect it from the mountains so all souls can see it Then iīll stand in the ocean until i start sinking But iīll know my song well before i start singing And itīs a hard rainīs a-gonna fall |
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