Hot air balloon

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 maroon hot air balloon.

I'll be out of my mind, and you'll be out of ideas pretty soon.
So let's spend the afternoon in a cold hot air balloon.
Leave your jacket behind, lean out and touch the treetops over town.
I can't wait to kiss the ground wherever we touch back down.

JAG ÄLSKAR OWL CITY. / J