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