It's hard to see
The dust is thick
Greg tries to shift
Can't find the stick
Clear Elsa's eyes
Of the rubber foam
Everyone hold on
We're almost home
Park up the street
Turn off the lights
We're punk Von Trapps
In the fascist night
They're in the house
Beams through windows
They'll be surprised
We're almost home
You can't tell us
We won't be the
Subject of their poems
Epics scrawled on
Ruins where the
Inheritors will roam
How we got home
It's hard to move
The mud is thick
Greg drops the gear
The back wheel sticks
Not far behind
The siren moans
Abandon ship
We're almost home
Walk past a junk car
Check for gas
Nothing for miles
A house at last
Trip on a journal
Among the bones
Black sharpie title:
How We Got Home
You can't tell us
We won't be the
Subject of their poems
Epics scrawled on
Ruins where the
Inheritors will roam
How we got home

INVIA LE CORREZIONI