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Bob Dylan - Boots Of Spanish Leather

Boots Of Spanish Leather
Bob Dylan
04:37
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Текст песни

Oh, I'm sailing away, my own true love,
I'm sailing away in the morning,
Is there something I can send you from across the sea
From the place that I'll be landing?

No, there's nothing you can send me, my own true love,
There's nothing I wish to be owning,
Just carry yourself back to me unspoiled
From across that lonesome ocean.

Oh, but I just thought you might want something fine
Made of silver or of golden,
Either from the mountains of Madrid
Or from the coast of Barcelona?

Oh, but if I had the stars from the darkest night
And the diamonds from the deepest ocean,
I'd forsake them all for your sweet kiss
For that's all I'm wishing to be owning.

That I might be gone a long time
And it's only that I'm asking
Is there something I can send you to remember me by
To make your time more easy passing?

Oh, how can, how can you ask me again?
It only brings me sorrow,
The same thing I want from you today
I would want again tomorrow.

I got a letter on a lonesome day,
It was from her ship a-sailing,
Saying, ‘I don't know when I'll be coming back again,
It depends on how I'm a-feeling.'

Well, if you, my love, must think thataway,
I'm sure your mind is roaming,
I'm sure your thoughts are not with me
But with the country to where you're going.

So take heed, take heed of the western wind,
Take heed of the stormy weather,
And, yes, there's something you can send back to me –
Spanish boots of Spanish leather.

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