I saw you from a foreign window. Bearing down the sufferin' road. You were carryin' your burden. To the palace of the Lord. To the palace of the Lord. I spied you from a foreign window. When the lilacs were in bloom. And the sun shone through your window pane. To the place you kept your books. You were reading on your sofa. You were singin' every prayer. That the masters had instilled in you. Since Lord Byron loved despair. In the palace of the Lord. In the palace of the Lord. Bridge:. And if you get it right this time. You don't have to come back again. And if you get it right this time. There's no need to explain. I saw you from a foreign. Bearing down the sufferin' road. You were carryin' your burden. You were singing about Rimbaud. I was going down to Geneva. When the Kingdom had been found. I was giving you protection. From the loneliness of the crowd. In the palace of the Lord. In the palace of the Lord. They were giving you religion. Breaking bread and drinking wine. And you laid out on the green hills. Just like when you were a child. I saw you from a foreign window. You were trying to find your way back home. You were carrying your defects. Sleeping on a pallet on the floor. In the palace of the Lord. In the palace of the Lord. In the palace of the Lord. Etc etc....