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 [bad word] 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.