We are skipping stones across the highway in the dark
We own a hundred mile markers, they're not going anywhere
And we are lying down beside the roses we have worn
In our lapels and in our mouths and in our hair
And how we come to grow our pockets full of things we stole
From all the heavy headed in all the windows of the world
They have now forgotten us, their gentlety, their voices hushed
Beneath the sheets they rise among our words
And these unhired hands, the fields are lonely without them
We drive a path into the edge, we'd feed the cattle with their words
And when the day is done, we leave our ploughs out in the front
And pull the curtains on the worn and turned earth
Yet night is not unkind, it moves the cold swim in the fire
It blows the sparks into the air, it warms your face
The spinning of the crowd, the concrete coming up to land
To meet the honorary keepers of this place
No, we are not afraid of empty bowls and pocket change
We are the children of the children of the kings
And broke down where we lay to watch the cardboard all the day
We write the truths we know where everyone can see em
You broke down where we lay, you watch a paper bag parade
We are the windows of the world, we are the free