The faces that you look up to see
All the people, milling in the street
All the petty souls with direction set for the day
A new generation to cast their lives away
Well then John Doe, how do I greet
Such a great example, of a banality?
It's just your plain soul, that makes me yawn
It's just that your smile is a fa├žade

In different buildings
Across telephone lines
There are many people
Who think they're doing fine
They are many of us that like to think
The world is not really so bad as it often seems

There are those of us, who take what we have
Read the morning paper and shake some hands
There are those of us who'd rather not know
This is a tainted world, that we're dying slow

Well hey mister bus driver, just for some cents
Drive me to a place, where I may repent
Where I can dawdle yet not lament
Where I can feel, like my life is not so spent
Well hey mister driver, let me forget
All those worn out figures, stumbling in regret
Make me happy, make me realize
That I need rose-colored glasses for my eyes

Oh, God loves the ages
Oh, God loves the times
He gazes down at us, so satisfied
He's watched civilizations, he's watched them grow
But has he watched you or me?
I would not think so.