It's the demolition derby

It's the sport of the hunt

Proud tribe in full war-dance

It's the slow smile that the bully gives the runt

It's the force of inertia

It's the lack of constraint

It's the children out playing in the rock garden

All dolled-up in black hats and war paint



Sometimes it feels like bars of steel

I cannot bend with my hands

Oh-I worry too much

Somebody told me that I worry too much



It's these sandpaper eyes

It's the way they rub the lustre from what is seen

It's the way we tell ourselves that all these things are normal

Till we can't remember what we mean

It's the flicker of our flames

It's the friction born of living

It's the way we beat a hot retreat

And heave our smoking guns into the river



Sometimes it feels like bars of steel

I cannot bend with my hands

Oh-I worry too much

Somebody told me that I worry too much



It's the quick-step march of history

The vanity of nations

It's the way there'll be no muffled drums

To mark the passage of my generation

It's the children of my children

It's the lambs born in innocence

It's wondering if the good I know

Will last to be seen by the eyes of the little ones



Sometimes it feels like bars of steel

I cannot bend with my hands

Oh-I worry too much

Somebody told me that I worry too much