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.

I just try to understand that tomorrow is another day.

I felt like I might as well have been living in another part of the solar system.

Disillusioned words like bullets bark as human gods aim for their mark.

Even I don't know what I'm saying most of the time.

My senses have been stripped, my hands can't feel to grip, my toes to numb to step, wait only for my boot heels to be wandering.

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