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Authors:

They're selling postcards of the hanging They're painting the passports brown The beauty parlor is 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.

Bob Dylan