Trump Talkin’ Nukes

A Place to Bury Strangers

Trump Talkin’ Nukes By A Place to Bury Strangers

I was born in 1976
Grew up on Red Dawn and WarGames, and ICBMs
And after school me and my friends
We’d meet in the garage
And we’d take stock of the garden tools
To assess which ones would make good weapons

But my dad had it worse than me
He’d have to hide under a desk
As if that would stop the blast from destroying everything

Then the tactics changed
And the poor used what they had
Like trucks and planes
And bodies strapped with dynamite

And it was terrible, tragic, but it wasn’t a mushroom cloud
And it was terrible, tragic, but it wasn’t a mushroom cloud

But you can’t put the genie back
In fact it’s a miracle that it hasn’t happened yet
Crazy how it only takes a maniac
Crazy how it only takes a maniac



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