Come you masters of war You that build all the guns You that build the death planes You that build the big bombs You that hide behind walls You that hide behind desks I just want you to know I can see through your masks.

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.

On the stone that remains carved next to his name, his epitaph plain, only a pawn in their game.

Couldn't help but make me feel ashamed to live in a land where justice is a game.

When the jelly faced women all sneeze, hear the one with the mustache say I can't find my knees.

They say that patriotism is the last refuge to which a scoundrel clings steal a little and they throw you in jail. Steal a lot and then they make you king.

This land is your land and this land is my land, sure, but the world is run by those that never listen to music anyway.