Lyrics:

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, 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
As 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
For what is this rough beast, its hour come at last
Slouching towards Bethlehem to be born
Slouching towards Bethlehem to be born
Oh, oh, to be born
Head of a man, shape of a lion

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 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, oh, to be born
Head of a man, shape of a lion
To be born
Head of a man, shape of a lion
Shape of a lion
Head of a man, shape of a lion