Sympathy For the Devil- Based On William Butler Yeat's the Second Coming
Burning and burning in the widening grave.
My hero ends cannot hear the hero;
Foes fall and get pulled apart, this card is centered in my fold.
Named anarchist, as released upon the world.
This was before blood-dimmed for every vessel, and everywhere.
Before heaven's ceremony of innocence made my last breath drown;
The best lacked all conviction, while the worst still stood passionate, vigilante. While god's fire intensity came crashing to the ground.
Surely some salvation is in his hand. Surely the second coming is at hand. A second apology! Sharply these words are screamed even from my teeth.
A demon image, my spiritus mundis is cast.
Suddenly, my sight is bleak, and my brothers and the many others vanished somewhere in sands of the desert.
Not a cloud, nor sound, no bodies here in this place for me. No more man, no more woman. All set a blaze as I stand and gaze, blank and pitiless as the sun.
Only pain and isolation, angry and animosity. I feel this as their moving slowly down my legs and thighs.
Brother, love your real shadows. As loyal as they are, you've shown that loyalty doesn't matter. But still I'll love you in spite of them.
But their darkness steadily drops again. Even through twenty centuries of stony sleep, I hear your insects buzzing with sin. They are vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle, and awaken I am, your rough beast, your fallen brother.
My hour come round at last.
Slouching I am towards the shores of Bethlehem to be once born again.
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