Written by: Bob Dylan
From the album:
Times played:
Last performance:
Shows recorded:
Shows not recorded:
Last recording:
Electric guitar:
Acoustic guitar:
Acoustic guitar:
There must be some way out of here, said the joker to the thief, There's too much confusion, I can't get no relief. Businessmen, they drink my wine, plowmen dig my earth, None 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 joke. But you and I, we've been through that, and this is not our fate, So let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late. All along the watchtower, princes kept the view While all the women came and went, barefoot servants, too. Outside in the distance a wildcat did growl, Two riders were approaching, the wind began to howl.

If you have any additions, corrections or comments please feel free to contact me.