Texty: Joni Mitchell. Travelogue. Slouching Toward Bethlehem.
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?
It's hour come at last
Slouching towards Bethlehem to be born
Slouching towards Bethlehem to be born, oh oh yeah
To be born, oh oh oh yeah
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?
It's hour come at last
Slouching towards Bethlehem to be born
Slouching towards Bethlehem to be born, oh oh yeah
To be born, hey Bethlehem, shape of a lion
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?
It's hour come at last
Slouching towards Bethlehem to be born
Slouching towards Bethlehem to be born, oh oh yeah
To be born, hey Bethlehem, shape of a lion, oh oh
Just the shape of a lion, oh oh
Hey Bethlehem, shape of a lion
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?
It's hour come at last
Slouching towards Bethlehem to be born
Slouching towards Bethlehem to be born, oh oh yeah
To be born, oh oh oh yeah
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?
It's hour come at last
Slouching towards Bethlehem to be born
Slouching towards Bethlehem to be born, oh oh yeah
To be born, hey Bethlehem, shape of a lion
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?
It's hour come at last
Slouching towards Bethlehem to be born
Slouching towards Bethlehem to be born, oh oh yeah
To be born, hey Bethlehem, shape of a lion, oh oh
Just the shape of a lion, oh oh
Hey Bethlehem, shape of a lion