Murrow
Written by Lindsey Buckingham

All the sainted sinners
They pay handsomely
Eventually they make the weapons
And they run the prisons
And they sell the justice
'Cause being guilty is just good business
And we're standing out on the borderline
Ain't no one going to stop it now

Murrow's turnin' over in his grave
Murrow's turnin' over in his grave
Murrow's turnin' over in his grave
Murrow's turnin' over in his grave

Murrow's turnin' over in his grave
Murrow's turnin' over in his grave
Murrow's turnin' over in his grave
Murrow's turnin' over in his grave

Half-closed eyes
And the country's dead
Would you feel the ooze as your brain drains out
From the pneumatic drills and sharpened knives?
Blood in the sky
Are you dead or alive?
Oh, the restless people and the bitter green
Well, it fakes this gold, makes the spirit mean

Murrow's turnin' over in his grave
Murrow's turnin' over in his grave
Murrow's turnin' over in his grave
Murrow's turnin' over in his grave

Murrow's turnin' over in his grave
Murrow's turnin' over in his grave
Murrow's turnin' over in his grave
Murrow's turnin' over in his grave