text: 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 its the second coming
  And the wrath has finally taken form
  For what is this rough beast
  Its hour come at last
  Slouching toward Bethlehem to be born
  Slouching toward 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 its moving its slow thighs
  Across the desert sands
  Through dark indignant
  Reeling falcons
  Surely some revelation is at hand
  Surely its the second coming
  And wrath has finally taken form
  For what is this rough beast
  Its hour come at last
  Slouching toward Bethlehem to be born
  Slouching toward 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 its the second coming
  And wrath has finally taken form
  For what is this rough beast
  Its hour come at last
  Slouching toward Bethlehem to be born
  Slouching toward Bethlehem to be born