作词 : Bob Dylan

作曲 : Bob Dylan

"There must be some kind of way out of here,"

Said the joker to the thief,

"There's too much confusion,

I can't get no relief.

Businessman they drink my wine,

Plowman dig my earth

None will level on the line,

Nobody offered his word, hey"

"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 cold distance

A wildcat did growl

Two riders were approaching

And the wind began to howl