When the war is over, we'll get married and the earth will grow flowers like you, and your womb will carry the most beautiful girl in the universe. (A letter found in the pocket of one of the dead soldiers, 1939.) Everyone reading that 87 years later:
America locking in and casually dropping the most nostalgic guitar riff of all time: AMERICA. Yeah, here we go. One, two, three, four. You're on a piece of grass, walking down the road. Tell me, how long you gonna stay here, John? Some people say this town don't look good in the snow. You don't care, I know. 'Cause your highway in the sunshine.
The goddess on a mountain top was burning like a silver flame. The summit of beauty and love. And Venus was her name. She's got it. Yeah, baby, she's got it. Well, I'm your Venus. I'm your fire, at your desire. Well, I'm your Venus. I'm your fire, at your desire. Her weapon was her crystal eyes. Making every man a man.
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