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Clyde |
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Throw a pebble in the lake and watch the ripples grow |
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Bursting like a flower in the midstream |
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Try some wild guesses about the changes you have made |
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In the daily lives of sleepy, sunken fishes |
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And thus the time will come |
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All the people singing |
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Fifty thousand people |
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A hundred million people |
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Together |
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Standing in the kitchen or smiling on the street |
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Around you all the radios receiving |
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In a survey taken recently of babies at their birth |
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Seven out of ten were tuned to smiling |
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And thus the time will come |
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All the people singing |
|
Fifty thousand people |
|
A hundred million people |
|
Together |
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Must be something there |
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But I don't know, and what is more, I don't care |
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You'll never change a thing |
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Too few of us, too many of them |
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But no, the faces are beginning to show |
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And the hands are beginning to reach out to each other |
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Together |
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A thousand pebbles tumbling at the bottom of a stream |
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A thousand babies smilling in the sunshine |
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A thousand years of weeping at the altar of a dream |
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A thousand years of blind young soldiers dying |
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And thus the time will come |
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All the people singing |
|
Fifty thousand people |
|
A hundred million people |
|
Together |
