These are not dispassionate words of the cool   The headline still rules the editor's a fool   Shall we douse out the flames or will everybody fuse   And leave us stranded here tomorrow      I heard a calling out, a cry from the heart   From the towns of cement and the beauty   A whisper it's turned howl, man, he didn't know   He was standing waiting for tomorrow      Nothing's left, nothing's found   There must be some common ground   Nothing's left, nothing's found   There must be some common ground      I could never figure the calendars flow   Nor can I work out how the wild, wild wind blows   But we're ready from within and we're starting to go   Away from the place of no tomorrow      Nothing's left, nothing's found   There must be some common ground   Nothing's left, hold it [Incomprehensible]   There must be some common ground      Oh, the wrecking fields are a terrible place   With a sulfurous smell and a frightening pace   And the hook goes early and the critic is king   It's hard to stay human and stand in the ring      There's no time to be absent, a clown or a fool   While Shylock is smiling we're loaded like mules   If we surrender ourself to industrial rules   We'll wake up in the wreckage of tomorrow, now      Nothing's left, nothing's found   There must be some common ground   Nothing's left, something's found   Can we see some common ground