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Desolation Row (Live at TCN 9 TV, Sydney, Australia - April 1966) - Bob Dylan
Lyrics by：Bob Dylan
Composed by：Bob Dylan
They're selling postcards of the hanging
They're painting the passports brown
The beauty parlor is filled with sailors the circus is in town
Here comes the blind commissioner they've got him in a trance
One hand is tied to the tight-rope
Walker the other is in his pants
And the riot squad they're restless
They need somewhere to go
As Lady and I look out tonight from Desolation Row
Cinderella she seems so easy
It takes one to know one she smiles
And puts her hands into her back
Pockets Bette Davis style
And in comes Romeo he's moaning
You Belong to Me I Believe
And someone turns in the face TV here
My friend you'd better leave
And the only sound that's left after the ambulances go
Is Cinderella sweeping up on Desolation Row
Now the moon is almost hidden the stars
They are just pretending to hide
The fortune telling lady has even taken all her things inside
All except for Cain and Abel and the hunchback of Notre Dame
Everyone is he the making love or else expecting rain
And the Good Samaritan he's dressing
He's getting ready for the show
He's going to the carnival tonight on Desolation Row
Ophelia she's 'neath the window for her I feel so afraid
On her twenty-second birthday she already is an old maid
Not to her death is quite romantic
She wears an iron vest
Her profession's her religion
Her sin is her lifelessness
And though her eyes are fixed upon Noah's great rainbow
She spends her time peeking into Desolation Row
Einstein disguised as Robin Hood
With his memories in a trunk
Passed this way an hour ago with
His friend a jealous monk
Now he looked so immaculately frightful
As he bummed a cigarette
And he when off sniffing drainpipes
And reciting the alphabet
You would not think to look at
Him but he was famous long ago
For playing the electric violin on Desolation Row
Dr Filth he keeps his world
Locked inside of a leather cup
But all his sexless patients they're trying to blow it up
Now his nurse some local loser she's
In charge of the cyanide hole
And she also keeps the cards
That read Have Mercy on His Soul
They all play on the penny whistles you can hear them blow
If you lean your head out far enough from Desolation Row
Across the street they've nailed the curtains
They're getting ready for the feast
The Phantom of the Opera in a perfect image of a priest
They are spoon feeding Casanova to
Get him to feel more assured
Then they'll kill him with self-confidence
After poisoning him with words
And the Phantom's shouts to skinny girls
Get outta here if you don't know
Casanova he is just being punished
For going to Desolation Row
At midnight all the agents and the superhuman crew
Come out and round up everyone
That knows more than they do
Then they bring them to the factory
Where the heart-attack machine
Is strapped across their shoulders and then the kerosene
Is brought down from the castles by insurance men who go
Check to see that noone is escaping to Desolation Row
Praise be to Nero's Neptune the Titanic sails at dawn
Everybody's shouting Which side are you on
And Ezra Pound and TS Eliot
Fighting in the captain's tower
While calypso singers laugh at
Them and fishermen hold flowers
Between the windows of the sea
Where lovely mermaids flow
And nobody has to think too
Much about Desolation Row
Yes I received your letter yesterday
About the time the doorknob broke
When you asked me how I was doing
Was that some kind of joke
All these people that you mention
Yes I know them they're quite lame
I had to rearrange their faces
And give them all another name
Right now I can't read too good
Don't send me no more letters no
Not unless you mail them from Desolation Row
