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Picture a bright blue ball just spinning, spinning free |
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Dizzy with eternity. |
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Paint it with a skin of sky, brush in some clouds and sea |
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Call it home for you and me. |
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A peaceful place or so it looks from space |
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A closer look reveals the human race. |
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Full of hope, full of grace, is the human face. |
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But afraid, we may our home to waste. |
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There's a fear down here we can't forget hasn't got a name just yet |
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Always awake, always around singing ashes to ashes all fall down. |
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Now watch as the ball revolves and the nighttime calls |
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And again the hunt begins and again the bloodwind calls |
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By and by again, the morning sun will rise |
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But the darkness never goes from some men's eyes. |
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It strolls the sidewalks and it rolls the streets |
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Stalking turf, dividing up meat. |
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Nightmare spook, piece of heat, you and me, you and me. |
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Click, flashblade in ghetto night. rudie's looking for a fight. |
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Rat cat alley roll them bones. need that cash to feed that jones |
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And the politicians throwing stones |
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Singing ashes, ashes all fall down. |
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Commissars and pin-striped bosses role the dice |
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Any way they fall guess who gets to pay the price. |
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Money green or proletarian gray, selling guns instead of food today. |
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So the kids they dance, they shake their bones |
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While the politicians throwing stones |
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Singing ashes, ashes all fall down. |
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Heartless powers try to tell us what to think |
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If the spirit's sleeping, then the flesh is ink. |
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History's page, it is thusly carved in stone |
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The future's here, we are it, we are on our own. |
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If the game is lost then we're all the same |
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No one left to place or take the blame. |
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We will leave this place an empty stone |
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Or this shinning ball of blue we can call our home |
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So the kids they dance, they shake their bones |
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While the politicians are throwing stones |
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Singing ashes, ashes all fall down. |
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Shipping powders back and forth |
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Singing "black goes south while white comes north" |
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And the whole world full of petty wars |
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Singing "i got mine and you got yours." |
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And the current fashions set the pace. |
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Lose your step, fall out of grace. |
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And the radical he rant and rage, singing "someone got to turn the page" |
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And the rich man in his summer home, |
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Singing "just leave well enough alone" |
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But his pants are down, his cover's blown |
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And the politicians are throwing stones |
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So the kids they dance they shake their bones |
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Cause its all too clear we're on our own |
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Picture a bright blue ball just spinning, spinning free |
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It's dizzying, the possibilities. ashes, ashes all fall down. |
