I don't think there's enough guns.

They self-inflict punishment on their own broken lives, put their faith in their possessions, in their jobs, or their wives.

The "joker" here ["All Along the Watchtower" ] is the older [Bob] Dylan himself, whining about exploitation, and the thief's rejoinder re-contextualizes the earlier critique into the religious frames that would become more prominent as time went on.

The drunken politician leaps upon the street where mothers weep, and the saviors who are fast asleep, they wait for you.

Silvio, I gotta go, find out something only dead men know.

Nothing can affect my voice, it's so bad.

They can't hurt me. Sure, they can crush you and kill you. They can lay you out on 42nd and Broadway and put hoses on you and flush you in the sewers and put you on the subway and carry you out to Coney island and bury you on the Ferris wheel. But I refuse to sit here and worry about dying.