|
Down beneath the swoosh of the turbines, the long grass blows in ripples |
|
There's a beautiful spiral of roads that leads the lost up here |
|
I was watching the birds taking off to swoop down over the city |
|
They find and take just what they need and turn, turn, turn |
|
The movers move, the shakers shake, the winners write their history |
|
But from high on the high hills it all looks like nothing |
|
The movers move, the shakers shake, the winners write their history |
|
But from high on the high hills it all looks like nothing |
|
That afternoon on Hustlergate with all the TVs flickering |
|
While behind the sky was moving liquid crimson gold |
|
Brothers, sisters, pay no heed to the unfaithful messengers |
|
For theirs is a prison world of lies, lies, lies |
|
Where the movers move, the shakers shake, the winners rewrite history |
|
But from high on the high hills it all looks like nothing |
|
The movers move, the shakers shake, the winners write their history |
|
But from high on the high hills it all looks like nothing |
|
The keening wind it blows through me, it blows through me |
|
My time it must be almost done, be almost done |
|
All these things you fear so much depend on angles of vision |
|
From down in the maze of walls you can't see what's coming |
|
But from high on the high hills it all looks like nothing |
|
But from high on the high hills it all looks like nothing, nothing |
