The Ants Go Marching

just another last minute parade
children pack this revolution
it may be tuesday
fooled this great security
but nothing blows up anymore
even christmas cards are quiet
my old home is breaking
into pieces of the nineties
whiskey voiced & reminiscent
that's where the crowd gets told
worth less than those circuses
what dead men do not do
is the wanderlust we forget
just to get out of the rain