Everybody’s living in the brave new Earth,
Prisoners of the small worlds that orbit in our skulls,
Native sons of a no-man’s land,
Friends and lovers in the cold, cold ground.
Every now and then I seem to dream these dreams, where the mute ones speak and the deaf ones sing,
Touching that miraculous circumstance, where the blind ones see and the dry bones dance.
Everyone surrenders to the brave new scarecrows, and waits for them to hand us cigarettes and blindfolds,
All lined up for the firing squad, paper fills the cracks in the wailing wall.
Every now and then I seem to dream these dreams, where the dead ones live and the hurt ones heal,
Touching that miraculous circumstance, where the blind ones see and the dry bones dance.
And I’m gone, gone, gone - carried away by the midnight wind,
And I long, long, long for a world without end,
The kind of thing that I’ve never seen, but in my dreams.
Spend your life and live to tell,
Tarnished coins in the wishing well.
Every now and then I seem to dream those dreams, where the orphans suckle and the slaves go free,
Touching that miraculous circumstance, where the blind ones see and the dry bones dance.
The dry bones dance,
The dry bones dance,
The dry bones dance.
