(Based on a poem by W.B. Yeats)

Turning and turning

Within the widening gyre

The falcon cannot hear the falconer

Things fall apart

The center cannot hold

And a blood dimmed tide

Is loosed upon the world



Nothing is sacred

The ceremony sinks

Innocence is drowned

In anarchy

The best lack conviction

Given some time to think

And the worst are full of passion

Without mercy



Surely some revelation is at hand

Surely it's the second coming

And the wrath has finally taken form

For what is this rough beast

Its hour come at last

Slouching towards Bethlehem to be born

Slouching towards Bethlehem to be born



Hoping and hoping

As if by my weak faith

The spirit of this world

Would heal and rise

Vast are the shadows

That straddle and strafe

And struggle in the darkness

Troubling my eyes



Shaped like a lion

It has the head of a man

With a gaze as blank

And pitiless as the sun

And it's moving its slow thighs

Across the desert sands

Through dark indignant

Reeling falcons



Surely some revelation is at hand

Surely it's the second coming

And the wrath has finally taken form

For what is this rough beast

Its hour come at last

Slouching towards Bethlehem to be born

Slouching towards Bethlehem to be born



Raging and raging

It rises from the deep

Opening its eyes

After twenty centuries

Vexed to a nightmare

Out of a stony sleep

By a rocking cradle

By the Sea of Galilee



Surely some revelation is at hand

Surely it's the second coming

And the wrath has finally taken form

For what is this rough beast

Its hour come at last