Written by: Bob Dylan

“There must be some way out of here,” said the joker to the thief“There’s too much confusion, I can’t get no reliefBusinessmen, they drink my wine, plowmen dig my earthNone of them along the line know what any of it is worth”“No reason to get excited,” the thief, he kindly spoke“There are many here among us who feel that life is but a jokeBut you and I, we’ve been through that, and this is not our fateSo let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late”All along the watchtower, princes kept the viewWhile all the women came and went, barefoot servants, tooOutside in the distance a wildcat did growlTwo riders were approaching, the wind began to howl

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