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The Mood
The Mood
There's a new wave of barbarism Washing round the world As the spinning-wheel of cycles spins again. There's a sense of savage places And a fear in people's faces And a folly in the wickedness of men. There's an empty formless feeling Of the night-watch tower pealing While the shadow-shapes swing reeling Through the air. Like a dream in black and red Creatures underneath your bed And when was it last you said A simple prayer? There's a new age of barbarism Sweeping round the world There are helmets being burnished And old battle-flags unfurled. Another age of fright From the shadows in the night As the spinning-wheel comes spinning round again. Grantland |
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