(Mark Heard)    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 luster 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