The Hill

Morse

        Blind man, stupid man, old man, postman,
	Don't stare at the sun.  Don't stare at the sun.

	Five thousand massacred; nobody cares.
	An airplane explodes; nobody cares.
	The president lies; no-one's surprised.
	Your neighbor dies (what was his name?)
	But the dog needs food and the gas man was rude,
	and the color's not right on the TV set.
	Don't stare at the sun.  Don't stare at the sun.

	Burn down the forests; nobody cares.
	Missiles still armed; nobody cares.
	Child dies hungry; where is your tear?
	Is your pain your only fear?
	But the lawn needs mowing and the cash isn't flowing,
	and who's screwing Hollywood now?
	Don't stare at the sun.  Don't stare at the sun.

	Just run, run, run.  Run up that hill.
	Let the smoke begin to clearing from your eyes.
	As the town begins to burning and all your steeples fall,
	let your world cry itself to sleep tonight.

	Don't stare at the sun.  Don't stare at the sun.
	Don't stare at the sun.  Don't stare at the sun.

The Hill is copyright 1991 John Perry, Chris Morse, Ross Elbling, and Liberal Materialists Music. Any rebroadcast or republication is prohibited without one of our expressed written consent. Write to me with your comments or usage requests

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