Turn the channel, turn it off
Smash the picture tube and pull the plug
I don't want to watch this anymore
If I can't make it better
Soldiers stepping over him
Just to save their own skin
A place to run, a place to hide
While the blood pours from his side
And I can't make it better
Oh, the helpless ones
Truly helpless
Stop the film, stop the bleeding
Pick him up, brush away the sand
And take him to the Father
And place him in His hand
If I could do it all myself, you know I would
You know how hard I've tried
Still, the blood pours from his side
And I can't make it better
Clear the stage, clear a pathway
Give him air, give him time to heal
Let him sing his mournful song
As little ones will do
I remember every night sitting in the crowd
But oh, the theater's empty now
Still the scene plays on before me
Will someone tell me how?

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