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
|
Squatters 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,She caves
|
|
The Bible's blind, the Torah's deaf, the Qur'an's mute
|
If you burned them all together you'd get close to the truth still
|
They're pouring over Sanskrit on the Ivy League moons
|
While shadows lengthen in the sun
|
Cast 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 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 I was 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.
|
She breaks.
|
|
You better look alive.
|
|
-----------------
|
Four Winds
|
| The Killers |
