Lyrics Satellites - Richard Shindell

Satellites

Fire on the thoroughfare
No one’s going anywhere
They say these are but the vestiges
Their banners look like bandages
A martyr’s face, an acronym
Beat the drum and sing the hymn
Struggle red and bible black
The riot squad is holding back
The nation lost an industry
Someone closed a factory
The decision unilateral
The damage done, collateral
The president was in a pinch
Budget cuts or start to print
Basis points gone through the roof
Now what’s a head of state to do?
High above without a sound
The satellites keep going round
An astronaut, a cameraman
Is drifting out in no man’s land
He’s tethered to the studio
Atlanta we are good to go
The hungry eye has got the feed
Producer’s getting what he needs
The anchor asks:
Will government cave in to local discontent?
High above without a sound
The satellites keep going round
LCDs on trading floors
In living rooms, appliance stores
LCDs at S&P
Moody’s and Fidelity
Somewhere there’s an average Joe
Opening an envelop
Somewhere a retiree
Is staring at a balance sheet
High above without a sound
The satellites keep going round