High

Down beneath the swoosh of the turbines, the long grass blows in ripples
 There's a beautiful spiral of roads that leads the lost up here
 I was watching the birds taking off to swoop down over the city
 They find and take just what they need and turn, turn, turn
 The movers move, the shakers shake, the winners write their history
 But from high on the high hills it all looks like nothing
 The movers move, the shakers shake, the winners write their history
 But from high on the high hills it all looks like nothing
 That afternoon on Hustlergate with all the TVs flickering
 While behind the sky was moving liquid crimson gold
 Brothers, sisters, pay no heed to the unfaithful messengers
 For theirs is a prison world of lies, lies, lies
 Where the movers move, the shakers shake, the winners rewrite history
 But from high on the high hills it all looks like nothing
 The movers move, the shakers shake, the winners write their history
 But from high on the high hills it all looks like nothing
 The keening wind it blows through me, it blows through me
 My time it must be almost done, be almost done
 All these things you fear so much depend on angles of vision
 From down in the maze of walls you can't see what's coming
 But from high on the high hills it all looks like nothing
 But from high on the high hills it all looks like nothing, nothing