Bob Dylan
There must be some kind of way out of here
Said the joker to the thief
Too much confusion
I can't get no relief
Businessmen they drink my wine
Plowmen dig my earth
None of them along the line
Know what any of it's worth.
No reason to get excited
The thief he kindly spoke
There are many here among us
Who think that life is but a joke
But you and I we've been through all that
And this is not our fate
So let us not talk falsely now
The hour is getting late.
All along the watchtower
The princes kept the view
While all the women came and went
Barefoot servants too
Outside in the distance
A wild cat did growl
Two riders were approaching
And the wind began to howl.