I’m not sure how we got here,
Thousands of miles to land,
And only a few inches of orange rubber,
Keeping us from certain death.
We’re officially lost,
And our lives are out of our hands,
But this flare gun is,
And it’s a clear Atlantic night.
So, if I pull the trigger,
Will you lay back with me,
To watch the bright light explode into hope,
Like our very own firework show?