| Your class, your caste, your country, sect, your name or your tribe
|
| There's people always dying trying to keep them alive
|
| There's bodies decomposing in containers tonight
|
| In an abandoned building where
|
| The squatters made a mural of a Mexican girl
|
| With fifteen cans of spray paint in a chemical swirl
|
| She's standing in the ashes at the end of the world
|
| Four Winds blowing through her hair
|
| But when Great Satan's gone... the Whore of Babylon...
|
| She just can't sustain the pressure where it's placed
|
| She caves
|
| The Bible's blind. |
| The Torah's deaf. |
| The Qu'ran is mute.
|
| If you burned them all together you’d get close to the truth
|
| Still they’re pouring over sandscript under Ivy League moons
|
| While shadows lengthen in the sun
|
| Cast on a school of meditation built to soften the times
|
| And hold us at the center while the spiral unwinds
|
| It's knocking over fences, crossing property lines
|
| Four Winds cry until it comes
|
| It's the Sum of Man slouching towards Bethlehem
|
| A heart just can't contain all of that empty space
|
| It breaks. |
| It breaks. |
| It breaks.
|
| Well I went back by rented Cadillac and company jet
|
| Like a newly orphaned refugee retracing my steps
|
| All the way to Cassadaga to commune with the dead
|
| They said, "You'd better look alive"
|
| And now it’s off to old Dakota where a genocide sleeps
|
| In the Black Hills, the Badlands, the calloused East
|
| I buried my ballast. |
| I made my peace.
|
| Heard Four Winds leveling the pines
|
| But when Great Satan's gone, the Whore of Babylon
|
| She just can't remain with all that outer space
|
| She breaks. |
| She breaks. |
| She caves. |
| She caves.
|
| You'd better look alive |