Lletres: Bob Dylan. Santa Fe.

Santa Fe
Dear, dear, dear, dear, dear Santa Fe
My woman needs it every day
She promised this a-lad she'd stay
She's rollin' up a lotta bread to toss away

She's in Santa Fe
Dear, dear, dear, dear, dear Santa Fe
Now she's opened up an old maid's home
She's proud but she needs to roam
She's gonna write herself a roadside poem about Santa Fe

Santa Fe
Dear, dear, dear, dear Santa Fe
Since I'm never gonna cease to roam
I'm never, ever far from home
But I'll build a geodesic dome and sail away

Don't feel bad
No, no, no, no, don't feel bad
It's the best food I've ever had
Makes me feel so glad
That she's cooking in a home-made pad
She never caught a cold so bad when I'm away

Santa Fe
Dear, dear, dear, dear, dear, dear Santa Fe
My shrimp boat's in the bay
I won't have my nature this way
And I'm leanin' on the wheel each day to drift away

From Santa Fe
Dear, dear, dear, dear, dear Santa Fe
My sister looks good at home
She's lickin' on an ice cream cone
She's packin' her big white comb
What does it weigh?