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'