Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
.
.
.
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,
.
.
.
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
W.B. Yeats - The Second Coming
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