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