Little Problems Little Lies

In a bombed out SUV No more cell reception No more light to see Screaming hopeless questions Dreaming 'bout my home Till the chopper comes from heaven To gather up my bones I'm standing on a ledge Out here on the edge The moon is hanging high It fills my dying eyes Little problems, little lies And all the young dudes fighting So far away from home Some are unsung heroes Some are made of stone Some of them are broken The broken places strong Some of them are crazy Their innocence is gone Standing on a ledge Out here on the edge The moon is hanging high And it fills my dying eyes Little problems, little lies