From the Arizona desert. To the Salisbury Plain. Lights on the horizon. Patterns on the grain. Anxious eyes turned upward. Clutching souvenirs. Carrying our highest hopes and our darkest fears. They swear there was an accident back in ’47. Little man with a great big head splattered down from heaven. Government conspiracy; cover-ups and lies. Hidden in the desert under endless skies.
They’re not here, they’re not coming. Not in a million years. ‘Til we put away our hatred. ‘Til we lay aside our fears. You may see the heavens flashing. You may hear the cosmos humming. But I promise you, my sister: They’re not here, they’re not coming.
Don Henley (1947 – )