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Oh, the streets are cracked and there's glass everywhere |
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And the children stare with a motherless eyes |
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In arms of beauty and on fields of war |
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Trapped in lament from the poet's core |
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Oh where |
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Oh where will I be? |
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Oh where |
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When that old trumpet sounds? |
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I met an Indian girl in Ottawa |
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She said, you'll be all right when you wah wah |
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Don't waste your breath, don't waste your heart |
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Don't blister your heels walking in the dark |
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Oh where |
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Oh where will I be? |
|
Oh where |
|
When that old trumpet sounds? |
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Yeah, I like the heat of your body laying under me |
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May your wild lip get you where you're going |
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With your inventions, your intentions, your laughter |
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Your forever yearning |
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Oh where |
|
Oh where |
|
When that trumpet sounds? |
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Are you talking, filling the air, healing the scars |
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Gnawing away at the steel bars |
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Going down pure, crawling in the cracks |
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Going all the way down and coming all the way back |
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Oh where |
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Oh where |
|
Oh where |
|
When that trumpet sounds? |
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Oh where |
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Oh where |
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When that trumpet sounds? |
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Well, the heart opens wide like it's never seen love |
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And addiction stays on tight like a glove |
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Oh where |
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Oh where will I be? |
