This is from memory, so the verses may be out of order, and there may be one or more missing. As the literary critic Christopher Ricks once said, Dylan is the only poet who would think of using the murders in the Rue Morgue, and add the English word meaning street that has a "ue" ending to it. What nerve!
Yours, Peter T.


When you're lost in the rain in Juarez, and it's Eastertime too
And your gravity fails, and negativity won't pull you through,
Don't put on any airs when you're down on Rue Morgue Avenue,
They got some hungry women there, and they'll really make a mess out of you.

If you see St. Annie, please tell her thanks a lot
I cannot move, and my fingers they are all in a knot,
I haven't got the strength to get up and take another shot,
And my best friend the doctor, won't even say what I've got."

Sweet Melinda, the peasants call her the goddess of bloom
She speaks good English, and she invites you up into her room
And you're so kind and careful not to go to her too soon,
And she takes your voice, and leaves you howling at the moon.

Up on Housing Project Hill, it's either fortune or fame
You can pick one or the other, though neither of them are to be what they claim,
And if you're looking to get silly, you better go back to from where you came,
Cause the cops don't need you, and man they expect the same.

All the authorities they just stand around and boast,
How they blackmailed the sergeant-at-arms into leaving his post,
And picking up Angel, who just arrived here from the coast
Who looked so fine at first, but left looking just like a ghost.

Well, I started out on burgundy, but soon hit the harder stuff,
Everybody said they'd stand beside me when the game got rough
But the joke was on me, there was nobody even there to bluff
I'm going back to New York City, I do believe I've had enough.