Caribbean Wind

Transcript of the performance by Bob Dylan on his unofficial CD set "The Genuine Bootleg Series", recorded 31 March 1981 at Studio 55, Los Angeles, California, U.S.A.
Lyric and music written by Bob Dylan


She was well rehearsed, fair, brown and blonde,
she had friends who were busboys and friends in the Pentagon.
Was playing a show in Miami in the theater of divine comedy.
Taught me in the shadows, where they talked in the rain,
I could tell she was still feeling the pain,
pain of rejection, pain of infidelity.

Was she a child or a woman? I can't say which.
One to another she could easily switch.
Couples were dancing and I lost track of the hours.
He was well prepared, I knew he was
paying attention like a rattlesnake does
when he's hearing footsteps trampling over his flowers.

And the Caribbean winds still blow from Nassau to Mexico,
from the circle of ice to the furnace of desire.
And them distant ships of liberty on them iron waves so bold and free,
bringing everything that's near to me nearer to the fire.

She looked into my soul through the clothes that I wore.
She said, "We got a mutual friend standin' at the door.
Yeah, you know, he's got our best interest in mind."
He was well connected, but her heart was a snare
and she had left him to die in there.
He had two payments due and he was a little behind.

Well, I slept in a hotel, where flies buzzed my head,
the ceiling fan was broken, there was heat in my bed,
a street band playing "Nearer My God To Thee".
We met in secret where we drank from a spring.
She said, "I know what you're thinking, but there ain't a thing
we can do about it, so we might as well let it be."

The Caribbean winds still blow from Nassau to Mexico,
from the circle of ice to the furnace of desire.
And them distant ships of liberty on them iron waves so bold and free,
bringing everything that's near to me nearer to the fire.

Atlantic City, two years to the day,
I hear a voice crying "Daddy" and I look that way,
but it's only the silence in the buttermilk hills that call.
Every new messenger bringin' evil report
'bout rioting armies and time that is short
and earthquakes and train wrecks and hate-words scribbled on the wall.

Would I have married her, I don't know, I suppose.
She had bells in her braids and they hung to her toes,
but I heard my nearer destiny say to be moving on.
And I felt it come over me, some kind of gloom,
gonna say, "Come on with me, girl, I got plenty of room",
but I knew I'd be lying, and besides, she had already gone.

And them Caribbean winds still blow from Nassau to Mexico,
circle of ice to the furnace of desire.
And the busy ships of liberty on them iron waves so bold and free,
bringing everything that's near to me nearer to the fire.

---

Caribbean Wind

Transcript of the performance by Bob Dylan on his official CD set "Biograph", recorded sometime in the Spring of 1981 in a studio in California, U.S.A.
Lyric and music written by Bob Dylan


She was the rose of Sharon from paradise lost,
from the city of seven hills near the place of the cross.
I was playing a show in Miami in the theater of divine comedy.
Told about Jesus, told about the rain,
she told me about the jungle where her brothers were slain,
by the man who invented iron and disappeared so mysteriously.

Was she a child or an angel? Did we go too far?
Were we sniper bait, did we follow a star
to a hole in the wall to where the long arm of the law cannot reach?
Could I been used and played as a pawn?
It certainly was possible as the gay night wore on
when men bathed in perfume and practiced the hoax of free speech.

And them Caribbean winds still blow from Nassau to Mexico,
fanning the flames in the furnace of desire.
And them distant ships of liberty on them iron waves so bold and free,
bringing everything that's near to me nearer to the fire.

Sea breeze blowin', there's a hellhound loose,
redeemed men who have escaped from the noose,
preaching faith and salvation, waiting for the night to arrive.
He was well connected, but her heart was a snare
and she had left him to die in there.
He was goin' down slow, just barely staying alive.

The cry of the peacock, flies buzzin' my head,
ceiling fan broken, there's a heat in my bed,
street band playing "Nearer My God To Thee".
We met at the station where the mission bells ring.
She said, "I know what you're thinking, but there ain't a thing
you can do about it, so let us just agree to agree".

And them Caribbean winds still blow from Nassau to Mexico,
fanning the flames on the furnace of desire.
And them distant ships of liberty on them iron waves so bold and free,
bringing everything that's near to me nearer to the fire.

Atlantic City by the cold grey sea,
hear a voice crying "Daddy', I always think it's for me,
but it's only the silence in the buttermilk hills that call.
Every new messenger bring an evil report
'bout armies on the march and time that is short
and famines and earthquakes and train wrecks and the tearin' down of the walls.

Did you ever have a dream that you couldn't explain?
Ever meet your accusers face to face in the rain?
She had chrome brown eyes, that I won't forget as long as she's gone.
I see the screws breaking loose, see the devil poundin' on tin,
see a house in the country being torn apart from within,
I can hear my ancestors calling from the land far beyond.

And them Caribbean winds still blow from Nassau to Mexico,
fanning the flames in the furnace of desire.
And them distant ships of liberty on them iron waves so bold and free,
bringing everything that's near to me nearer to the fire.