(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 Business men they They drink my wine Plowmen dig my earth No one will ever on the mine Nobody of it is worth No reason to get excited The thief he kindly fool 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 talk falsely now The hour's getting late Yeah All along the watchtower The princess kept the view While all the women came and went Bare feet servants too Outside in the cold distance A wild cat did growl Two riders were aproaching now And the wind began to howl