Desolation Row [1994-11-18: New York] Songtext
von Bob Dylan

They′re selling postcards of the hanging
They're painting the passports brown
And beauty parlor′s 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 tightrope 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
Puts her hands in her back pocket
Bette Davis style


In comes Romeo, he′s moaning
"You belong to me, I believe"
Someone turns and says, "You′re in the wrong room, my friend
You'd better hurry up and 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 are beginning 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 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


Now Ophelia, she′s 'neath the window
For her I feel so afraid
On her 22nd birthday
She already is an old maid

To her, death is quite romantic
She wears an ironed vest
Her profession is 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

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
Get him to feel more assured
Then they'll kill him with self-confidence
After poisoning him with words

And the phantom shouting to skinny girls
"Get out of here if you don′t know"
Casanova he's just being punished
For goin′ to desolation row

Now at midnight all the agents
And the super-human crew
Come out and round up everyone
That knows more than they do

And they bring them to the factory
Where their 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 nobody's escaping
Desolation row

Yes, I received your letter yesterday
′Bout the time the doorknob broke
When you asked me how I was doing
Was that some kind of joke?

All these people that you mentioned
Yes, I know them, they are 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