Bob Dylan - Caribbean Wind - Rehearsal With Pedal Steel (from "The Bootleg Series Vol. 13: Trouble No More 1979–1981" compilation) sur Lyrkit

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Caribbean Wind - Rehearsal With Pedal Steel (from "The Bootleg Series Vol. 13: Trouble No More 1979–1981" compilation)

Caribbean Wind - Rehearsal With Pedal Steel (from "The Bootleg Series Vol. 13: Trouble No More 1979–1981" compilation)

She was from Haiti, fair brown and intense
I don't think she'd ever known about innocence
I was playing a show in Miami, in the theater of mystery
Told about Jesus, told about the rain
She told me about the vision, told me about the pain
That had risen from the ashes and abided in her memory

Was she a virtuous woman? I really can't say
Something about her said "Trust me anyway"
As the days turned into minutes and the minutes turned back into hours
Pretended to be sleeping, and he thought I was
But I was only paying attention like a rattlesnake does
When he's hearing footsteps trampling on the flowers

The Caribbean winds still blow, from Mexico to Curacao
From Chinatown to the furnace of desire
And them distant ships of liberty on the iron waves so bold and free
Bringing everyone that's near to me closer to the fire

Our shadows grew closer till they touched on the floor
Prodigal sons waiting close to the door
Preaching obscenities, waiting for the night to arrive
He was well connected, but her heart was a snare
She had left him to die in there
But I knew I couldn't get him out while he still was alive

The stars on the balcony, flies buzz my head
Ceiling fan's broken, there's heat in my bed
Street band playing "Nearer, My God, to Thee"
She looked into my eyes, I hear them mission bells ring
She said "I know what you're thinking, but there ain't a thing
"You can do about it so you might as well let it be"

And them Caribbean winds still blow, from Mexico down to Curacao
From Chinatown to the furnace of desire
And them distant ships of liberty on them iron waves so bold and free
Bringing everything you'd ever want close to me closer to the fire

Atlantic city by the cruel sea, I hear a voice crying "Daddy," I always think it's for me
But it's only the silence in the Buttermilk Hills that calls
Every new messenger bringing evil reports
'Bout armies that are rioting whose fuses are short
And them ugly gargoyles and hate words written on walls

Would I have married her? I don't know, I suppose
She had bells in her braids, fire in her clothes
But the curtain was rising, like they say, the show must go on
And I felt you come over me, some kind of gloom
I was gonna say "Come on with me, I've got plenty of room"
But I knew I'd be lying, and besides she had already gone

And them Caribbean winds still blow, from Curacao to Mexico
From Chinatown to the furnace of desire
And them distant ships of liberty, on iron waves so bold and free
Bringing everything that's near to me nearer to the fire

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