What holy cities are to nomadic tribes - a symbol of race and a bond of union - great books are to the wandering souls of men: they are the Meccas of the mind.
G.E. Woodberry
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Burn
The sky is red, I don't understand,
past midnight I still see the land.
People are sayin' the woman is damned,
she makes you burn with a wave of her hand.
The city's a blaze, the town's on fire.
The woman's flames are reaching higher.
We were fools, we called her liar.
All I hear is "Burn!"
I didn't believe she was devil's sperm.
She said, "Curse you all, you'll never learn!
When I leave there's no return."
The people laughed till she said, "Burn!"
Warning came, no one cared.
Earth was shakin', we stood and stared.
When it came no one was spared.
Still I hear "Burn!"
You know we had no time,
we could not even try.
You know we had no time.
You know we had no time,
we could not even try.
You know we had no time.
The sky is red, I don't understand,
past midnight I still see the land.
People are sayin' the woman is damned,
she makes you burn with a wave of her hand.
Warning came, no one cared.
Earth was shakin, we stood and stared.
When it came no one was spared.
Still I hear "Burn!"