On a city train headed down the lineThe faces of the strangers show the passing of the timeHistory is hanging as a picture in a frameEverywhere we go we are the child of where we cameItty bitty little baby cry with all your mightDarkened by the daytime in a city full of lightsBlind to insurrection but in battle all the sameEverywhere we go we are the child of where we cameEverywhere we go we are the child of where we cameCity of our lady, queen of all the angelsLingers in the ringing of the iron mission bellsChanging all the faces, saving all the namesEverywhere we go we are the child of where we cameEverywhere we go we are the child of where we cameEverywhere we go we are the child of where we came