Him that we've not heeded from these dread Atlantic coasts
Oh there is rage for vengeance on us from his far-off Pacific colony.
For Iíve seen him,
See how he would roll 'em, roll 'em.
They love his philanthropy.
Those art thoughts of Zeus Himself
They say, those who are
A day's ride from LA.
And due to him Staying his course:
They love that in his wish's wish they gain signs.
They say, he would, touching out at us
With streams of music as his strength.
Pray we hear Stately song.
Yet his words have harassed us sore.
For they are words of harm.
That made known its left hand
But shows not so its right.
And the same was said on Sixty Minutes;
They said that this champ is a sorry vessal
To grant Forever trustings to.
'Tis doubt: his cause is unknown
For the song of him, there, are songs of sand.
Ah, keeper of kin and like glory
Temper our soul with fire, we long!
For from that Will depends our dreams of plenty,
You would have us hear you!
Roll 'em, roll 'em, roll 'em, roll 'em, roll 'em.
Don't you weary of being throught Lonely?
Me oh me oh me
Never be like him in thy smallest act
Lest Thou suffer.
Then, facing earthís recent ills
thou wilt be true
'til the sun come to boil
And the slaughter of the eternal city.
--Neil Diamond and Aeschylus