Slouching Towards Bethlehem Lyrics
| Song | Slouching Towards Bethlehem |
| Artist | Joni Mitchell |
| Album | A Day in the Garden |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作词 : Mitchell, Yeats | |
| (Based on a poem by W.B. Yeats) | |
| Turning and turning | |
| Within the widening gyre | |
| The falcon cannot hear the falconer | |
| Things fall apart | |
| The center 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 | |
| Hoping and hoping | |
| As if by 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 | |
| And 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 | |
| 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 |
| zuo ci : Mitchell, Yeats | |
| Based on a poem by W. B. Yeats | |
| Turning and turning | |
| Within the widening gyre | |
| The falcon cannot hear the falconer | |
| Things fall apart | |
| The center 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 | |
| Hoping and hoping | |
| As if by 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 | |
| And 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 | |
| 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 |
| zuò cí : Mitchell, Yeats | |
| Based on a poem by W. B. Yeats | |
| Turning and turning | |
| Within the widening gyre | |
| The falcon cannot hear the falconer | |
| Things fall apart | |
| The center 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 | |
| Hoping and hoping | |
| As if by 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 | |
| And 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 | |
| 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 |
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