There are lots of children here
Who do not understand
They squirm in their parent's arms
Reluctantly they hold their hands
When they look out the windows
All they see are city streets
They don't like the videos
They're black and white
And have no beat
There are people speaking Chinese
Speaking Spanish too
But most here look a lot like me
You'd probably think they look like you
A group of New Zealanders
Just came through the door
It's Wednesday afternoon in Dallas
Here on the sixth floor
Everyone remembers where they were
That awful day
The man in line behind me
Says he was in high school
Rehearsing a play
The woman with him says
She was on the cinder track
When she heard the news
And being here brings it all back
We weave our way through memorabilia
Hung up on the walls
Campaign posters, photos of weddings
And children running through those hallowed halls
A brief display on Cuba and the VietNam War
You can't help but wonder what might have been
As you stroll around
The sixth floor
They show films here
We've all seen on the news
I turn my head
When that limousine comes into view
Instead I watch all these faces
Looking on in shock
Reliving our collective nightmare
Turning back the clock
I'm surprised to see the sixth floor
Has become this tourist spot
Where people from all walks of life
Feel compelled to stop
We look out the windows
And feel our heartbeats race
The cards below just come and go
Ignore this infamous place
The children up here make it clear
They just want to leave
They crawl around the carpet
Tug on their parent's sleeves
We're amused to see the souvenirs
On sale by the door
I wrote this song with a pen
Engraved 'The Sixth Floor'