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Slouching Towards Bethlehem / Based on a Poem By W.B. Yeats
Joni Mitchell
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Turning and turning within the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer
Things fall apart, the centre 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, oh
To be born
Hoping and hoping as if with 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
Oh, for what is this rough beast? Its hour come at last
Slouching towards Bethlehem to be born
Slouching towards Bethlehem to be born, oh
Head of a man, shape of a lion
It's got the shape of a lion
Raging and raging, it rises from the deep
Opening its eyes after 20 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
Slouching towards Bethlehem to be born
Slouching towards Bethlehem to be born, oh
Head of a man, shape of a lion
It's got the shape of a lion
Head of a man, shape of a lion
It's got the shape of a lion
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