Desolation Row --- Bob Dylan
They’re selling [D]postcards
of the hanging; they’re [G]painting the
passports [D]brown.
The [A7]beauty
parlor’s filled with sailors; the [G]circus
is in [D]town.
Here comes the blind
commissioner; they’ve [G]got him in a [D]trance.
One [A7]hand
is tied to the tightrope walker; the [G]other
is in his [D]pants.
And the [G]riot
squad, they’re restless; they [D]need
somewhere to [G]go.
As [D]Lady
and I look [A7]out tonight from [G]Desolation
[D]Row.
Cinder-[D]ella,
she seems so easy. “It [G]takes one to
know one” she [D]smiles.
And [A7]puts
her hands in her back pockets --- [G]Bette
Davis [D]style.
And in comes Romeo he’s
moaning, “You be-[G]long to me, I be-[D]lieve.”
And [A7]someone
says, “You’re in the wrong place my friend. [G]You’d
better [D]leave.”
And the [G]only
sound that’s left [D]after the ambulances
[G]go
Is [D]Cinderella
[A7]sweeping up on [G]Desolation
[D]Row.
Now the [D]moon
is almost hidden; the [G]stars are
beginning to [D]hide.
The [A7]fortune-telling
lady has [G]taken all her things in-[D]side.
All except for Cain and
Abel, and the [G]Hunchback of Notre [D]Dame
[A7]Everybody
is making love or [G]else expecting [D]rain.
And the [G]Good
Samaritan, he’s dressing, He’s getting [D]ready
for the [G]show.
He’s [D]going
to the [A7]Carnival tonight on [G]Desolation
[D]Row.
Now O-[D]phelia,
she’s ‘neath the window. For [G]her I
feel so a-[D]fraid.
On her [A7]twenty-second
birthday she al-[G]ready is an old [D]maid.
To her, Death is quite
romantic. She [G]wears an iron [D]vest.
Her pro-[A7]fession’s
her religion. Her [G]sin is her
lifeless-[D]ness.
And [G]though
her eyes are fixed upon [D]Noah’s great
rain-[G]bow,
She [D]spends
her time [A7]peeking into [G]Desolation
[D]Row.
Ein-[D]stein
disguised as Robin Hood, with his [G]mem’ries
in a [D]trunk
[A7]Passed
this way an hour ago with his [G]friend,
a jealous [D]monk.
He looked so immaculately
frightful, as he [G]bummed a cigar-[D]ette.
Then he [A7]went
off sniffing drainpipes and re-[G]citing
the alpha-[D]bet.
You [G]would
not think to look at him but he was [D]famous
long [G]ago
For [D]playing
the electric [A7]violin on [G]Desolation
[D]Row.
Doctor [D]Filth,
he keeps his world in-[G]side of a
leather [D]cup.
But [A7]all
his sexless patients, they are [G]trying
to blow it [D]up.
Now his nurse, some local
loser, she’s in [G]charge of the cyanide
[D]hole.
And she [A7]also
keeps the cards that read: “Have [G]mercy
on his [D]soul.”
[G]They
all play on the pennywhistle. [D]You can
hear them [G]blow
If you [D]lean
your head out [A7]far enough from [G]Desolation
[D]Row.
Across the [D]street,
they’ve nailed the curtains. They’re getting [G]ready
for the [D]feast.
The [A7]Phantom
of the Opera in a perfect [G]image of a [D]priest.
They’re spoon-feeding
Casanova to [G]get him to feel more as-[D]sured.
Then they’ll [A7]kill
him with self-confidence after [G]poisoning
him with [D]words.
And the [G]Phantom
shouts to skinny girls, “Get [D]outta
here if you don’t [G]know
Casa-[D]nova
is just being [A7]punished for going to [G]Desolation
[D]Row.”
At [D]Midnight
all the agents and the [G]superhuman [D]crew
Come [A7]out
and round up everyone who [G]knows more
than they [D]do.
Then they bring them to the
factory, where the [G]heart-attack ma-[D]chine
Is [A7]strapped
across their shoulders, and [G]then the
kero-[D]sene
Is [G]brought
down from the castles by in-[D]surance
men who [G]go
Check to [D]see
that nobody is es-[A7]caping to [G]Desolation
[D]Row.
Praise [D]be
to Nero’s Neptune, the Ti-[G]tanic sails
at [D]dawn
And [A7]everybody’s
shouting, [G]“Which side are you [D]on?”
And Ezra Pound and T.S.
Eliot are [G]fighting in the captain’s [D]tower
While ca-[A7]lypso
singers laugh at them and [G]fishermen
hold [D]flowers
Be-[G]tween
the windows of the sea where [D]lovely
mermaids [G]go.
And [D]nobody
has to [A7]think too much about [G]Desolation
[D]Row.
Yes, I re-[D]ceived
your letter yesterday, about the [G]time
the doorknob [D]broke
When you [A7]asked
how I was doing, was [G]that some kind of
[D]joke?
All these people that you
mention, yes I [G]know them, they’re
quite [D]lame.
I had to [A7]rearrange
theiir faces and give them [G]all another
[D]name.
[G]Right
now I can’t read too good, Don’t send me [D]no
more letters. [G]No,
[D]Not
unless you [A7]mail them from [G]Desolation
[D]Row.