Desolation Row

They're selling postcards of the hanging, they're painting the passports brown,

The beauty parlor's 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.

Cinderella, she seems so easy. "It takes one to know one," she smiles,

Puts her hands in her back pocket Bette Davis-style.

In comes Romeo, he's moaning, "You belong to me, I believe."

Someone turns and says, "You're in the wrong room, my friend, you'd better hurry up and leave."

And the only sound that's left after the ambulances go

Is Cinderella sweeping up on Desolation Row.

Now, the moon is almost hidden, the stars are beginning to hide,

The fortune-telling lady has even taken all her things inside.

All except for Cain and Abel and the Hunchback of Notre Dame,

Everyone is either making love or else expecting rain.

And the Good Samaritan, he's dressing, he's getting ready for the show.

He's going to the carnival tonight on Desolation Row.

Now, Ophelia, she's 'neath the window, for her I feel so afraid,

On her twenty-second birthday she already is an old maid.

To her death is quite romantic, she wears an iron vest,

Her profession is her religion, her sin is her lifelessness.

And, though her eyes are fixed upon Noah's great rainbow,

She spends her time peeking into Desolation Row.

Across the street they've nailed the curtains, they're getting ready for the feast,

The Phantom of the Opera in the perfect image of a priest.

They're spoon-feeding Casanova, get him to feel more assured,

Then they'll kill him with self-confidence after poisoning him with words.

And the Phantom is shouting to skinny girls, "Get outta here if you don't know

Casanova, he's just being punished for going to Desolation Row!"

Now, at midnight all the agents and the superhuman crew

Come out and round up everyone that knows more than they do.

Then they bring them to the factory where the heart-attack machine

Is strapped across their shoulders and then the kerosene

Is brought down from the castles by insurance men who go

Check to see that no one is escaping Desolation Row.

Yes, I received your letter yesterday 'bout the time that the door knob broke.

When you asked me how I was doing, was that some kinda joke?

All these people that you mention, yes, I know them, they're quite lame,

I had to rearrange their faces and give them all another name.

Right now I can't read too good, don't send me no more letters, no!

Not unless you mail them from Desolation Row.