Текст песни Убійци - вітри

Your class, your caste, your country, sect, your name or your tribe
There's people always dying trying to keep them alive
There's bodies decomposing in containers tonight
In an abandoned building where
The squatters made a mural of a Mexican girl
With fifteen cans of spray paint in a chemical swirl
She's standing in the ashes at the end of the world
Four Winds blowing through her hair

But when Great Satan's gone... the Whore of Babylon...
She just can't sustain the pressure where it's placed
She caves

The Bible's blind. The Torah's deaf. The Qu'ran is mute.
If you burned them all together you’d get close to the truth
Still they’re pouring over sandscript under Ivy League moons
While shadows lengthen in the sun
Cast on a school of meditation built to soften the times
And hold us at the center while the spiral unwinds
It's knocking over fences, crossing property lines
Four Winds cry until it comes

It's the Sum of Man slouching towards Bethlehem
A heart just can't contain all of that empty space
It breaks. It breaks. It breaks.

Well I went back by rented Cadillac and company jet
Like a newly orphaned refugee retracing my steps
All the way to Cassadaga to commune with the dead
They said, "You'd better look alive"
And now it’s off to old Dakota where a genocide sleeps
In the Black Hills, the Badlands, the calloused East
I buried my ballast. I made my peace.

Heard Four Winds leveling the pines

But when Great Satan's gone, the Whore of Babylon
She just can't remain with all that outer space
She breaks. She breaks. She caves. She caves.

You'd better look alive
===========================
ЧЕТЫРЕ ВЕТРА
Твой класс, твоя каста, твоя страна, секта, твоё имя или твоё племя -
Всегда есть люди, умирающие, пытаясь поддерживать их.
Есть тела, разлагающиеся в контейнерах этой ночью
В заброшенном доме, где
Скваттеры* сделали фреску мексиканской девочки
С помощью пятнадцати баллонов краски, замешанной в химический водоворот.
Она стоит в пепле на краю света,
И Четыре Ветра развевают ее волосы.

Но когда Великий Сатана ушёл... Шлю*а Вавилона...
Она просто не может выдержать давление. Там, где оно сильнее всего,
Она проделывает дыру...

Библия слепа. Тор глух. Коран нем.
Если бы ты сжёг их всех вместе, ты был бы ближе к правде,
Но они по-прежнему льются строчками под лунами Лиги Плюща,
В то время как удлиняются тени,
Брошенные на школу медитации, призванной смягчить времена.
Держи нас в центре, пока раскручивается спираль
Заваливая заборы, пересекая границы частных владений.
Четыре Ветра будут завывать до тех пор, пока это не случится.

Это - задача Человека, кланяющегося Вифлеему.
Сердцу тяжело, когда в нём только пустота.
Оно разбито. Оно разбито. Оно разбито.

И вот, я вернулся на арендованном "Кадиллаке" и корпоративном самолёте,
Как недавно осиротевший беженец, идущий по своим же следам,
А все пути ведут к Кассадаге, чтобы общаться с мертвыми.
Они сказали, "Вам лучше бы выглядеть живыми"
И теперь я отправляюсь прочь, в старую Дакоту, где геноцид на время утих.
На Чёрных Холмах, на бесплодных землях, на суровом Востоке
Я сбросил камень с души души и обрёл покой,

Услышав Четыре Ветра, раскачивающих сосны...

Но когда Великий Сатана ушёл... Шлю*а Вавилона...
Она просто не может остаться во всём этом космосе...
Она разбита. Она разбита. Она проделывает дыру... Она проделывает дыру...

Вам лучше бы выглядеть живыми.

* - самовольные поселенцы; незаконно вселившиеся в дом

Your class, your waste, your country, sect, your name or your tribe
There's people always dying trying to keep them alive
There's bodies decomposing in containers tonight
In an abandoned building where
The squatters made a mural of a Mexican girl
With fifteen cans of spray paint in a chemical swirl
She's standing in the ashes at the end of the world
Four Winds blowing through her hair
But when Great Satan's gone ... the Whore of Babylon ...
She just can not sustain the pressure where it's placed
She caves
The Bible's blind. The Torah's deaf. The Qu'ran is mute.
If you burned them all together you'd get close to the truth
Still they're pouring over sandscript under Ivy League moons
While shadows lengthen in the sun
Cast on a school of meditation built to soften the times
And hold us at the center while the spiral unwinds
It's knocking over fences, crossing property lines
Four Winds cry until it comes
It's the Sum of Man slouching towards Bethlehem
A heart just can not contain all of that empty space
It breaks. It breaks. It breaks.
Well I went back by rented Cadillac and company jet
Like a newly orphaned refugee retracing my steps
All the way to Cassadaga to commune with the dead
They said, & quot; You'd better look alive & quot;
And now it's off to old Dakota where a genocide sleeps
In the Black Hills, the Badlands, the calloused East
I buried my ballast. I made my peace.
Heard Four Winds leveling the pines
But when Great Satan's gone, the Whore of Babylon
She just can not remain with all that outer space
She breaks. She breaks. She caves. She caves.
You'd better look alive
===========================
Four Winds
Your class, your caste, your country, sect, your name or your tribe -
There are always people who die trying to support them.
There are bodies decomposing in containers tonight
In an abandoned building, where
* The squatters made the mural of Mexican girl
With fifteen bottles of paint, mixed in the vortex of the chemical.
She is standing in the ashes at the end of the world,
And the Four Winds waving her hair.
But when the Great Satan is gone ... whore of Babylon ...
It simply can not withstand the pressure. Where it is more likely
She does a hole ...
The Bible is blind. Thor deaf. Quran it.
If you burned them all together, you would have been closer to the truth,
But they are still pouring lines under the moons of the Ivy League,
While lengthening shadow
Abandoned on a school of meditation, designed to soften the times.
Keep us in the center, while the spiral unwinds
Pulling fences, crossing the boundaries of private property.
Four Winds will howl as long as this does not happen.
This is - the problem of Man, bowed Bethlehem.
Heart hard when there is only emptiness.
It is broken. It is broken. It is broken.
So, I went back to the rented & quot; Cadillac & quot; and corporate aircraft,
As a newly orphaned refugee, walking in their footsteps as,
And all roads lead to Kassadage to communicate with the dead.
They said, & quot; you'd better look alive & quot;
And now I go away, the old Dakota where a genocide at the time ceased.
In the Black Hills, in the barren land on austere East
I dropped a stone from soul and soul has found peace,
Hearing the Four Winds, rock the pine ...
But when the Great Satan is gone ... whore of Babylon ...
She just can not stay around this space ...
It is broken. It is broken. She does a hole ... She does a hole ...
You'd better look alive.
* - Squatters; squatter