Lyrics:

by Bob Dylan

'Oh, help me in my weakness,'
I heard the drifter say,
As they carried him from the courtroom
And were taking him away.
'My trip hasn't been a pleasant one
And my time it isn't long,
And I still do not know
What it was that I've done wrong.'

Well, the judge, he cast his robe aside,
A tear came to his eye,
'You fail to understand,' he said,
'Why must you even try?'
Outside, the crowd was stirring,
You could hear it from the door.
Inside, the judge was stepping down,
While the jury cried for more.

'Oh, stop that cursed jury,'
Cried the attendant and the nurse,
'The trial was bad enough,
But this is ten times worse.'
Just then a bolt of lightning
Struck the courthouse out of shape,
And while ev'rybody knelt to pray
The drifter did escape.