The French Girl (Take 1)

Bob Dylan

On slim hands waiting
Flash bright in candlelight till sunday's early morn
We found her room that rainy morning
She took my hand through
Winding roads and led me home

Some red french wine when later waiting
In her warm hideaway, she smiled and combed her hair
We talked of all, we talked of nothing
I left with promises to meet, she told me where

Oh, but she laughed each time I asked her name
Made promises to meet again
But her friends down at the french café
Had no english words for me
So you may find above the border
A girl with silver rings
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