|
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 and says to him |
|
"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're just pretending to hide |
|
The fortunetelling lady |
|
Has even taken all her things inside |
|
All except for Cain and Abel |
|
And the hunchback of Notre Dame |
|
Everyone is makin' 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 |
|
Now to her, death is quite romantic |
|
She wears an iron 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 |
|
Einstein, disguised as Robin Hood |
|
With his memories in a trunk |
|
Passed this way an hour ago |
|
With his friend, some jealous monk |
|
Now he looked so immaculately frightful |
|
As he bummed his cigarette |
|
Then he went 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 his 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 |
|
She also keeps the cards that read |
|
"Have mercy on his soul" |
|
They all play on the penny whistle |
|
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're 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 shouts to skinny girls |
|
"Get outta here if you don't know |
|
Casanova he's just being punished for going |
|
To desolation row" |
|
Now 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 no one is escaping |
|
To desolation row |
|
Praise be to Nero's Neptune |
|
The Titanic sails at dawn |
|
And everybody's shouting |
|
"Which side are you on?" |
|
And Ezra Pound and T.S. Elliott |
|
Fighting in the captain's tower |
|
While Calypso's 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 door knob 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 cannot read too well |
|
Don't send me no more letters, no |
|
Not unless you mail them |
|
From desolation row |
