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There are fleeting fits of reason between the sleeping and the drinks When a million different sensory experiences blink And is there within the moment tearing darkness you can breathe They have form without reflection or debris There are bloody bouts of tenderness against the bounds of few Fixing combat everlasting; vultures circled ever near And now they're placing bets deciding who will be the first to feast They can flood the battlefield with songs and mead Barrel-chested bankers buying billboards by the score Placing all their eggs in baskets made of future feudal wars Now their children fight in microcosmic mirrors of their gain And the messenger will always be to blame There are centuries of seasons turning white to green to brown Cycling through each solar sequence, turning temperaments around This incessant spinning ceases, making dizzy all our days We'll succumb to something stranger anyway To some disaster of a disorientating breaking day Barrel-chested bankers buying billboards by the score Placing all their eggs in baskets made of future feudal wars Now their children fight in microcosmic mirrors of their gain And the messenger will always be to blame Yeah, the messenger will always be to blame (Thanks to Siobhan for these lyrics) From Letras Mania