The world wheels it’s sad plans, and little laughter
Without any qualms of repent or malaise
Yet holds dear what soldiers fear
And keeps repetitive patterns to our daily madness
In spite all the sin, in all the hours of distress
Sent hurtling through the air like scatter bomber;
No one near is ever safe
We find a serenity in a song played from a far away speaker
Slowly winding its way down the backs of a thousand year old men
Climbing the lamp posts in an excited chatter
Rattling the car horns as they whisper on through the bright light
Sweet angels come out then, with their faces turned down
Deeply focused on a task they care nothing at all about
Yet their patience controls their movements
Their virtues calculate the proper time to set forth
When once again the music from distant speakers
Curl down the ancient backs of the fathers of old men
Nothing can stop them then, with their time in front of them
For sin is within those who stop the proceedings
No man mortal can avoid the dance deep within