Your class your caste your country sect your name or your tribe. There's people always dying trying to keep 'em 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 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 I rent a Cadillac a 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 bad lands the calloused east. I buried my ballast I made my peace. With 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