Turning and turning into the widening gyre

The falcon cannot hear the falconer

Things fall apart

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The center cannot hold

Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world

The blood dimmed tide is loosed and everywhere

The ceremony of innocence is drowned

The best lack all conviction

While the worst are full of passionate intensity

Surely some revelation is at hand:

Surely the Second Coming is at hand.

The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out

When a vast image out of spiritus mundi

Troubles my sight

Somewhere in the sands of the desert

A shape with lion body and the head of a man

A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun

Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it

Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds

The darkness drops again but now I know

That twenty centuries of stony sleep

Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle

And what rough beast, its hour come at last,

Slouches toward Bethlehem to be born?

Let's have a good game, y'all.