The horizon is a beltway that we may never cross.
The tops of buildings tremble now like children
long and lost.
The blood runs deeper, deeper still,
the blood upon the cross.
The horizon is a beltway that we may never cross.
You hear the distant love song when the wind blows right.
Hear the whistle blowing,
put a tear into your eye.
Hear the distant love song,
but widows know the lie.
The horizon is a beltway and the skyline's on fire.
The skyline's on fire,
yeah,
the skyline's on fire.
You hear the distant love song and the skyline's on fire.
You come up from the lowlands to the city on the air,
where pilgrims and commissioners curate Christian fare.
From Havasu to Brownsville,
come along a broken stair.
I wonder what it smells like in the city on the air.
You hear the distant love song when the wind blows right.
Just the same blue love song made my granddad cry.
You hear the whistle blowing,
put a tear drop in your eye.
You can hear the distant love song when the skyline's on fire.
The skyline's on fire,
yeah,
the skyline's on fire.
The horizon is a beltway and the skyline's on fire.
all by yourself.
The rising of the bellwether and the skyline is on fire.
The skyline is on fire,
now the skyline is on fire.
The rising of the bellwether and the skyline is on fire.
The skyline is on fire,
now the skyline is on fire.
The rising of the bellwether and the skyline is on fire.
The skyline is on fire,
now the skyline is on fire.
You can hear that distant love song.
And the skyline is on fire.
The skyline is on fire,
now the skyline is on fire.
The rising of the bellwether and the skyline is on fire.