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Hunted by the ghosts of its citizens
This tower rushes cold with blood
... High on the desert hill, calling for power...
And we collapse to the foot of the captions
Reading these subtitles while thirsting for its Progress...
And we storm this complacent, barren, and weary tower...
It will be mine, brimming with intimate will...
This truth will out...oh tower...high in your indignancy..,
Ring out your nightmares and return to this prowess that I close...
Turning this wine into blood...bathed in horror and replenished
From early sirens awakened by the glow of the sun...
Linger on in your strife and consol these idiots...stifled in murder
And herald the return of Babylon...

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© copyright 2004, gregorio racadio, all rights reserved