I used to think the world was flat. Rarely threw my hat into the crowd. I felt I had used up my quota of yearning. Used to look in on the children at night. In the glow of their Donald Duck light. And I frighten myself with the thought of my little ones burning. Oh oh oh the tide is turning. Oh oh oh the tide is turning. Satellites buzzing through the endless night. Exclusive to moonshots and world title fights. Jesus Christ imagine what it must be earning. Who is the strongest. Who is the best. Who holds the aces. The East. Or the West. This is the crap our children are learning. And oh oh the tide is turning. Oh oh the tide is turning. Oh oh oh the tide is turning. Oh oh oh the tide is turning. Oh oh oh the tide is turning. Now the satellite's confused. 'Cos on Saturday night. The airwaves were full of compassion and light. And his silicon heart warmed. To the sight of a billion candles burning. But I'm not saying that the battle is won. But on Saturday night all those kids in the sun. Wrested technology's sword from the hand of the war lords. Oh the tide is turning. Oh the tide is turning. Oh the tide is turning. Oh the tide is turning. (Repeated).