Lyrics & Music: Bob Dylan; Published by Warner Brothers
Hey Joe, you got it
Right, blow horn

You must leave now
Take what you need, you think will last
But what ever you wish to keep, you, you better grab it fast
Yonder stands your orphan with his gun, and that's no for
Crying like a fire in the sun
So, so look out, babe, the saints are comin' through
Oba, was vorbei is, is vorbei, Baby Blue

The highway is for gamblers, you better use your sins
Take what ever you gathered, take what ever you gathered from coincidence
The empty-handed painter from your streets
is drawing crazy patterns on your sheets
And babe, the sky too, is folding over you
Oba trotzdem, was vorbei is, is vorbei, Baby Blue

Und vergiß nicht deine High-Heels, deine High-Heels
deine heißen, roten Schuh', Baby Blue
Leave your stepping stones behind, there's something that calls for you
Forget the dead you've left, they will not follow you
Your lover who's just walked out the door
he has taken all his blankets from the floor, Jesus
Look out, babe, the saints are coming through
Oba, was vorbei is, is vorbei, Baby Blue

Go, Strike another match, go, go, start anew, start something new
Oba, was vorbei is, is vorbei, Baby Blue.
Still lovin', baby
Und wenns'd mi hearst, dann waßt eh wen i man, OK
There's a couple of drinks more, please