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lyrics: J. Morse © 1984

Another word is spoken, a thought driven home
Cast away like the refuse of a war
Another dream is dying, another speech to give
Another politician, can we live like this anymore
   Newspaper says, he's dead and gone
   Radio plays that same sad song
   Trumpets blowing high above, heard miles around
   Our only hope is crumbling, can we lose the piercing sound?
You think you've got problems?
Acid rain, street crime, hunger, dead air
You can't see the real ones
Arcing toward you like a flare
   All turning quiet, a peace abounds
   Red skies don't really mean a thing
   Listen closely, you can hear the sounds
   Of the children tiny voices, they sing
Fallen by the wayside, look into the mirror
Nothing there to stop us, we vanish into air
Falling... falling free.
   Like wires... we touch
   A spark... we sing
   Like magnets... we touch
   A click... a ring
   Falling... en garde, monsieur
   You will die today

   Falling... touche, I've fallen
Pray for me.