| Where are the arms of the world?
|
| They’ve always been able to find us
|
| Caught between borders and shores
|
| Reaching past danger and blindness
|
| My Mother wept over the headlines
|
| The Beatles appeared in my dreams
|
| «Hoo Boy» exclaimed our man Mister Cronkite
|
| As the Eagle touched down on blurry TV
|
| And where are the eyes of the world?
|
| They’ve always been able to see you
|
| Why did you give up and turn away
|
| At the moment that so many need you
|
| And the sight of children in cages
|
| While dog whistles stink up the place
|
| Everything’s different but nothings much changes
|
| Our Man Walter Cronkite would be on the case
|
| And what will you miss when you’re gone?
|
| Lovers and songs and light ever-changing
|
| And the sense that once you belong to something amazing
|
| It was something amazing
|
| Where is the heart of the world?
|
| I always believed it could love me
|
| It’s one of those things without words
|
| Like the sight of the stars shining above me
|
| My Father rode trains Monday to Friday
|
| His chin fell asleep on his chest
|
| I carry what’s left somewhere inside me
|
| Our Man Walter Cronkite has gone to his rest
|
| Our Man Walter Cronkite is gone |