Lyrics
I say that the world's just a run around,
And we're chasing our tails in the dark,
We send ships to the stars,
While we cover with tar to build parking lots.
Be it gardener, or banker, or diplomat,
I question the fruits of our plan,
We send men to the moon,
Yet we don't provide food for the starving man.
It's not always easy to trust your feelings,
To do what's right.
The secret of service has not been told,
Handing out trips or a crime,
Broadcasting fables,
The young and the able don't buy the lines.
Patiently waiting for someone to tell,
How they finally discovered the way out of Hell,
Is it true.
If so can our earthly desires improve,
Roll your eyes,
For the cynic we've run out of room.
I say that the world's just a runaround,
Yet our spirit is reaching new heights,
"Calling All Angels",
a friend on the radio cries.
"Calling All Angels",
a friend on the radio cries.
It's not always easy to trust your feelings,
To do what's right.
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