Your class, your cash, your country, sect, your name or your tribe.
There's people always dying trying to keep them alive.
His body's decomposing in containers tonight,
In an abandoned building where,
A squatter's made a mural of a Mexican girl,
With fifteen cans of spray paint and 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's mute.
If you burn them all together you get close to the truth still,
They are pouring over sanskrit on the ivy league moons,
While shadows lengthen in the sun.
Cast off all the school and 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.
And it's the song 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, I rent a Cadillac, a company jet,
Like a newly orphaned refugee, retracing my steps.
All the way to Casa David to commune with the dead.
They said, "You'd better look alive."
And I was off to old Dakota where a genocide sleeps,
In the black hills, the bad lands, the calloused east.
I buried my ballast, I made my peace,
With four winds, levelling the pines.
But when great Satan's gone, the whore of Babylon,
Well she just can't compete with all that outer space.
She breaks, she breaks, she caves, she caves.

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