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When we were young, we pledged allegiance every morning of our lives |
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The classroom rang with children's voices under teacher's watchful eye |
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We learned about the world around us at our desks and at dinnertime |
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Reminded of the starving children, we cleaned our plates with guilty minds |
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And the stones in the road we played like marbles in the dust |
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Until a voice called for us to make our way back home |
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When I was ten, my father held me on his shoulders above the crowd |
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To see a train draped in mourning pass slowly through our town |
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His widow kneeled with all her children at the sacred burial ground |
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The TV glowed that long hot summer with all the cities burning down |
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And the stones in the road flew out from our bicycle tires |
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Worlds removed from all those fires as we raced each other home |
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And now we drink our coffee on the run and climb that ladder rung by rung |
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We are the daughters and the sons and here's the line that's missing... |
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The starving children have been replaced by souls out on the street |
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We give a dollar when we pass and hope our eyes don't meet |
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We pencil in, we cancel out, we crave the corner suite |
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We kiss your ass, we make you hold, we doctor the receipt |
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And the stones in the road leave a mark from whence they came |
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A thousand points of light or shame, baby, I don't know |
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Stones in the road |
