When cold hits the desert,
I'll go to Kwajalein.
I'll go to Kwaj.
I'll go in a Micronesian jet,
and I'll ride a rusted bike.
I'll go to Kwaj,
and the bougainvillea will sing.
Oh the blue eyed lagoon
at Emmon beach.
I'll go to Kwaj.
And the palm trees will bow to the wind.
Barbecue air.
Plumaria and Parties.
Turtles in the pit
and milk truck shuttles.
I'll go to Kwaj
like I always said I would.
Crescent island and
windside waves.
Bicycle rush hour.
Coral sand and coral reefs.
I'll go to Kwaj.
Oct 9, 2016
Oct 9, 2016 at 1:27 AM UTC
When cold hits the desert,
I'll go to Kwajalein.
I'll go to Kwaj.
I'll go in a Micronesian jet,
and I'll ride a rusted bike.
I'll go to Kwaj,
and the bougainvillea will sing.
Oh the blue eyed lagoon
at Emmon beach.
I'll go to Kwaj.
And the palm trees will bow to the wind.
Barbecue air.
Plumaria and Parties.
Turtles in the pit
and milk truck shuttles.
I'll go to Kwaj
like I always said I would.
Crescent island and
windside waves.
Bicycle rush hour.
Coral sand and coral reefs.
I'll go to Kwaj.
Request permission to use this poem