Antic Nomad

We wrote a prelude To our own fairy tale And bought a parachute At a church rummage sale And with a mean sewing machine And miles of thread We sewed the day above L.A. In navy and red We wound a race track Through your mom's kitchen chairs And fought the shadows back Down your dark basement stairs I lit a match, then let it catch To light up the room And then you yelled as we beheld An old maroo..