In this ocean of hours I'm all the time drinking.

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.

You're better than no one and no one is better than you.

Hold it, Doc, a world war passed through my brain. He said, Nurse, get your pad, this boy's insane.

There must be some kind of way out of here,' said the joker to the thief.

You can't do something forever.

Crimson flames tied through my ears rolling high and mighty traps, pounced with fire on flaming roads using ideas as my maps.