Song | Desolation Row (Live) |
Artist | Bob Dylan |
Album | Bob Dylan: Melbourne, Australia (bootleg) |
作词 : Dylan | |
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 in her back pockets | |
Bette Davis style | |
And in comes Romeo, he’s moaning | |
“You Belong to Me I Believe” | |
And someone says, “You’re in the wrong place my friend | |
You 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 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 | |
Everybody 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 twenty-second birthday | |
She already is an old maid | |
To her, death is quite romantic | |
She wears an iron vest | |
Her profession’s 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, a jealous monk | |
He looked so immaculately frightful | |
As he bummed a cigarette | |
Then he went off sniffing drainpipes | |
And reciting the alphabet | |
Now 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 | |
Inside of a 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 | |
And she also keeps the cards that read | |
“Have Mercy on His Soul” | |
They all play on pennywhistles | |
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 | |
A perfect image of a priest | |
They’re spoonfeeding Casanova | |
To get him to feel more assured | |
Then they’ll kill him with self-confidence | |
After poisoning him with words | |
And the Phantom’s shouting to skinny girls | |
“Get Outa Here If You Don’t Know | |
Casanova is 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 nobody 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. Eliot | |
Fighting in the captain’s tower | |
While calypso 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 doorknob broke) | |
When you asked 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 can’t read too good | |
Don’t send me no more letters, no | |
Not unless you mail them | |
From Desolation Row |
zuò cí : Dylan | |
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 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 | |
And puts her hands in her back pockets | |
Bette Davis style | |
And in comes Romeo, he' s moaning | |
" You Belong to Me I Believe" | |
And someone says, " You' re in the wrong place my friend | |
You 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 are beginning to hide | |
The fortunetelling lady | |
Has even taken all her things inside | |
All except for Cain and Abel | |
And the hunchback of Notre Dame | |
Everybody 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 twentysecond birthday | |
She already is an old maid | |
To her, death is quite romantic | |
She wears an iron vest | |
Her profession' s 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, a jealous monk | |
He looked so immaculately frightful | |
As he bummed a cigarette | |
Then he went off sniffing drainpipes | |
And reciting the alphabet | |
Now 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 | |
Inside of a 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 | |
And she also keeps the cards that read | |
" Have Mercy on His Soul" | |
They all play on pennywhistles | |
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 | |
A perfect image of a priest | |
They' re spoonfeeding Casanova | |
To get him to feel more assured | |
Then they' ll kill him with selfconfidence | |
After poisoning him with words | |
And the Phantom' s shouting to skinny girls | |
" Get Outa Here If You Don' t Know | |
Casanova is 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 heartattack 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 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. Eliot | |
Fighting in the captain' s tower | |
While calypso 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 doorknob broke | |
When you asked 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 can' t read too good | |
Don' t send me no more letters, no | |
Not unless you mail them | |
From Desolation Row |