Desolation Row
They're selling postcards of the hangingThey're painting the passports brownThe beauty parlor is filled with sailorsThe circus is in townHere comes the blind commissionerThey've got him in a tranceOne hand is tied to the tight-rope walkerThe other is in his pantsAnd the riot squad they're restlessThey need somewhere to goAs Lady and I look out tonightFrom Desolation Row
Cinderella, she seems so easy"It takes one to know one," she smilesAnd puts her hands in her back pocketsBette Davis styleAnd in comes Romeo, he's moaning"You Belong to Me I Believe"And someone says, "You're in the wrong place my friendYou better leave"And the only sound that's leftAfter the ambulances goIs Cinderella sweeping upOn Desolation Row
Now the moon is almost hiddenThe stars are beginning to hideThe fortune-telling ladyHas even taken all her things insideAll except for Cain and AbelAnd the hunchback of Notre DameEverybody is making loveOr else expecting rainAnd the Good Samaritan, he's dressingHe's getting ready for the showHe's going to the carnival tonightOn Desolation Row
Now Ophelia, she's 'neath the windowFor her I feel so afraidOn her twenty-second birthdayShe already is an old maidTo her, death is quite romanticShe wears an iron vestHer profession's her religionHer sin is her lifelessnessAnd though her eyes are fixed uponNoah's great rainbowShe spends her time peekingInto Desolation Row
Einstein, disguised as Robin HoodWith his memories in a trunkPassed this way an hour agoWith his friend, a jealous monkHe looked so immaculately frightfulAs he bummed a cigaretteThen he went off sniffing drainpipesAnd reciting the alphabetNow you would not think to look at himBut he was famous long agoFor playing the electric violinOn Desolation Row
Dr. Filth, he keeps his worldInside of a leather cupBut all his sexless patientsThey're trying to blow it upNow his nurse, some local loserShe's in charge of the cyanide holeAnd she also keeps the cards that read"Have Mercy on His Soul"They all play on penny-whistlesYou can hear them blowIf you lean your head out far enoughFrom Desolation Row
Across the street they've nailed the curtainsThey're getting ready for the feastThe Phantom of the OperaA perfect image of a priestThey're spoon-feeding CasanovaTo get him to feel more assuredThen they'll kill him with self-confidenceAfter poisoning him with wordsAnd the Phantom's shouting to skinny girls"Get Outa Here If You Don't KnowCasanova is just being punished for goingTo Desolation Row"
Now at midnight all the agentsAnd the superhuman crewCome out and round up everyoneThat knows more than they doThen they bring them to the factoryWhere the heart-attack machineIs strapped across their shouldersAnd then the keroseneIs brought down from the castlesBy insurance men who goCheck to see that nobody is escapingTo Desolation Row
Praise be to Nero's NeptuneThe Titanic sails at dawnAnd everybody's shouting"Which Side Are You On?"And Ezra Pound and T. S. EliotFighting in the captain's towerWhile calypso singers laugh at themAnd fishermen hold flowersBetween the windows of the seaWhere lovely mermaids flowAnd nobody has to think too muchAbout Desolation Row
Yes, I received your letter yesterdayAbout the time the doorknob brokeWhen you asked how I was doingWas that some kind of joke?All these people that you mentionYes, I know them, they're quite lameI had to rearrange their facesAnd give them all another nameRight now I can't read too goodDon't send me no more letters, noNot unless you mail themFrom Desolation Row