Like a swan who's lover has been shot in the chest and is lying down broken and lifeless, speaking the last words of a life decayed. Counting down numbers of a life betrayed. And all of the people are gathered around to listen to the beautiful sounds coming out of the bodies swinging in the coolest breeze. Nodding in time to the sweet serenade.
Send in your bulldozers to knock the buildings down. Drop your smartest bombs from the highest clouds. From Bethlehem to Jenin this sound is so obscene. From New York to Dublin they're swinging in the wind. There is no blessed saviour there is no blessed sin there is only the sounds of bodies as they are swinging in the wind. The smell of 3 day death down each deserted street as the dogs pick their way between the bodies in defeat.
They're swingin