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I went down to the parade |
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The streets were closed and everybody huddled to the barriers |
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Hoping for a better view, waiting for the floats to come through |
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And leave a trail of confetti in their wake |
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Oh, on a thousand roads |
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We are coming home |
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Yellow streamers on the ground |
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And blue balloons are floating overhead like restless satellites |
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Focused on the concrete, and straying down the side streets |
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At the mercy of the temperamental breeze |
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Oh, on a thousand roads |
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We are coming home |
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Old familiar roads |
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We are coming home |
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Every face was to the sky |
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A small town on a summer day to waste away with no better plan |
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Than to sit and watch a stray balloon, if only for an afternoon |
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And then continue on their way, another day |
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Oh, on a thousand roads |
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We are coming home |
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Old familiar roads |
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We are coming home |
