Helter Skelter, circa 1914

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.

Surely some revelation is at hand. Or is it only mad visionaries who think they see the future so plain and pure in scope and depth? It seems certain some revelation is at hand. Maybe it's not even the end of the world. Maybe there's a vision true: of the world in flames and Man, scorched, wading forward hip-deep in blood to the the future, just like always and ever.

"What about you, daddy? Did you exchange a walk-on role in the war for a leading role in a cage?"

"That was long ago, darling, when boiling blood burst thorough split skin of the bound, burning."

Surely some revelation is at hand. There is nothing new under the Sun.

"Helter Skelter?"

"Hush little baby, don't you cry. One of these mornings you're going to rise up singing; then you'll spread your wings, and you'll take to the sky."

There are those who say, "It ain't gonna happen." We can talk about it, talk about it, talk about it, talk about it peace, and wreck 'n' silliation. Floods and fires, volcanoes and earthquakes; disease and famine, mayhem and invasion. We can talk about it talk about talk about it. Everything ... shrugs. There is nothing new under the Sun. Surely it is revealed that there is nothing new under the Sun.

Everybody knows, everyone says. That oily men disco dancing on flowery floats, men in sequined g-string gyrate to the lusting cheers of men; that hard-packed women, lip-waxed ladies, scowl; babies like rabies ashot; that everyone smiles at the shit on their shoes and looks at the sky, blue and empty. You can hear them say: "Wish You Were Here."

Everyone knows everyone blows.

So, so you think you can tell Heaven from Hell,
blue skies from pain.
Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail? A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?

And did they get you trade your heroes for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees? Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change? And did you exchange
a walk on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?

It's a mixed up, mumbled up, jumbled up world 'cept for Lola. One World. We are the Children.

Who you gonna turn to where you gonna run.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in the sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

Surely some vision has run Helter Skelter. Surely there is nothing new under the Sun. Surely the Second Coming is at hand.