Ain't nothing too discreet about the disease of conceit.

Jewels and binoculars hang from the head of the mule.

You don't have to be afraid of looking into my face. We've done nothing to each other that time will not erase.

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.

Socialism, hypnotism, patriotism, materialism, fools making laws for the breaking of jaws.

Along with some of the worst music of Bob Dylan's career ("Self-Portrait," 1970), this period produced some gems - including many songs recorded with The Band in '67 but not released until years later.

Last night I danced with a stranger, but she just reminded me you were the one.