Walter Cronkite
Where are the arms of the world?
They've always been able to find us
Caught between borders and shores
Reaching past dangerous blindless
My mother wept over the headlines
The Beatles appeared in my dreams
"Ooh, boy", exclaimed our man Walter 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 and cages
While dog whistles stink up the place
Everything's different but nothing much changes
Our man Walter Cronkite would be on the case
And what will you miss when you're gone?
Lovers in songs and the light ever-changing
And the sense that once you belonged
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
And I carry what's left somewhere inside me
And our man Walter Cronkite has gone to his rest
Our man Walter Cronkite has gone
They've always been able to find us
Caught between borders and shores
Reaching past dangerous blindless
My mother wept over the headlines
The Beatles appeared in my dreams
"Ooh, boy", exclaimed our man Walter 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 and cages
While dog whistles stink up the place
Everything's different but nothing much changes
Our man Walter Cronkite would be on the case
And what will you miss when you're gone?
Lovers in songs and the light ever-changing
And the sense that once you belonged
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
And I carry what's left somewhere inside me
And our man Walter Cronkite has gone to his rest
Our man Walter Cronkite has gone
Credits
Writer(s): Mary Carpenter
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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