“Your dreams are so sad,” was the last thing I remember
And the last thing she ever said to me
Flags rippling in the wind
Broken payphones and red sunsets
All I ever see these days
Could go back to the ocean
And swim out to the sea
Easier to go back to the bar
And drink three straight shots of misery
Don’t tell this boy about the good times
Don’t tell this fool about a damned choice
Because there ain’t no room for echoes
When an angry man has lost his voice
Could drive that bike up to where I was born
Watch the sun bring down the hills of Hollywood
But the bottle’s already opened and the glass is full
Finish what I started tonight, yeah, I know I should
California Son
Lost and lonely one
Gotta steal my bones
Back to California, Son
No comments:
Post a Comment