"Tombstone Blues" Take 1 (7/29/1965) Songtext
von Bob Dylan

The sweet pretty things are in bed now, of course
The city fathers they are planning to endorse
The reincarnation of Paul Revere′s horse
But the town has no need to be nervous

The ghost of Belle Starr she hands down her wits
To Jezebel the nun she violently knits
A bald wig for Jack the Ripper who sits
At the head of the chamber of commerce

Mama's in the factory, she′s carrying in a fuse
Daddy's in the alley, ain't got no shoes
I am in the kitchen with the tombstone blues

The hysterical bride in the penny arcade
Screaming she moans, "I′ve just been made"
Then sends out for the doctor who pulls down the shade
And says, "My advice is to not let the boys in"

And now the medicine man comes and he shuffles inside
He walks with a swagger and he says to the bride
"Stop all this weeping, swallow your pride
You will not die, it′s not poison"


Daddy's in the factory, ain′t got no shoes
Mama's in the alley, she′s lighing the fuse
I'm in the kitchen with the tombstone blues

The blacksmith with frackles after torturing a thief
Looks up at his hero, the commander-in-chief
Saying, "Tell me great hero, but please make it brief
Is there a hole for me to get sick in?"

The commander-in-chief answers him while chasing a fly
Saying, "Death to all those who would whimper and cry"
And dropping a bar bell he points to the sky
Saying, "The sun′s not yellow, it's chicken"

Mama's in the kitchen, she ain′t wearin′ no shoes
Daddy's in the factory, he′s lighting the fuse
I'm in the alley, I am not

The king of the Philistines his soldiers to save
Puts jawbones on their tombstones and flatters their graves
Puts the pied pipers in prison and he fattens the slaves
And sends them out to the jungle

Gypsy Davey with a blowtorch he burns out their camps
With his faithful slave Pedro behind him he tramps
With a fantastic collection of stamps
To win friends and influence his uncle


Daddy′s in the factory, ain't wearin′ no shoes
Mama's in the alley, she's lighting the fuse
I′m in the kitchen with the tombstone blues

The geometry of innocent flesh on the bone
It′s Galileo's math book to get thrown
At Delilah who′s sitting worthlessly alone
But the tears on her cheeks of the laughter

I wish I could give Brother Bill his great thrill
I would set him in chains at the top of the hill
And send out for some pillars and Cecil B. DeMille
He could die happily ever after

Mama's in the kitchen, ain′t wearing no shoes
Daddy's in the owen, he′s lightin' the fuse
I'm in the factory with the tombstone blues

Where Ma Rainey and Beethoven once unwrapped their bed roll
Tuba players now rehearse around the flagpole
And the National Bank sellin′ road maps for the soul
To the old folks home in the college

I wish I could write you a melody so plain
That could hold you, dear lady, from going insane
That could cool you and ease you and cease the pain
Of your pointless and useless knowledge

Daddy′s in the kitchen, he ain't got no shoes
Mama′s in the factory, she's lightin′ the fuse
I'm in the kitchen with the tombstone blues

Alright