Woke up to smoke and mirrors.
Stern red voices tell you that you’re on your own.
You were only six years old.
Heat from the barrel steaming,
Sends your father straight into the atmosphere,
Wishing he could still be here.
Oh sweet Caroline…
Do you think that we’ve lost control?
Kids stocking guns and ammo,
“Catastrophic” – read it in a magazine
douse them all in kerosene.
I don’t want to be righteous,
But we both want to believe
There’s something bigger than this out there.
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