These are not dispassionate words of the cool
  The headline still rules the editor’s a fool
  Shall we douse out the flames or will everybody fuse
  And leave us stranded here tomorrow
  I heard a calling out, a cry from the heart
  From the towns of cement and the beauty
  A whisper its turned howl, man he didn’t know
  He was standing waiting for tomorrow
  
  Nothing’s left, nothing’s found, there must be some common ground
  
  I could never figure the calendars flow
  Nor can I work out how the wild, wild wind blows
  But we’re ready from within and we’re starting to go
  Away from the place of no tomorrow
  
  Nothing’s left, nothing’s found, there must be some common ground
  Nothing’s left, (???) I see there must be some common ground
  
  Oh the wrecking fields are a terrible place
  With a sulphurous smell and a frightening pace
  And the Hook goes early and the critic is king
  It’s hard to stay human and stand in the ring
  
  There’s no time to be absent, a clown or a fool
  While Shylock is smiling we’re loaded like mules
  If we surrender ourself to industrial rules
  We’ll wake up in the wreckage of tomorrow
  Now
  
  Nothing’s left, nothing’s found, there must be some common ground
  Nothing’s left, something’s found, can we see some common ground