They're selling postcards of the hanging. They're painting the passports brown.
And the beauty parlor's filled with sailors, the circus is in town.
Now here comes the blind commissioner. They've got him in a trance.
One hand is tied to the tightrope walker, and the other's 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~

EDIT: For those of you who don't listen to Bob Dylan, no, I did not write that. XD Cheers~