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