|
In my room at Third and Seneca |
|
See the pigeons peck on tall roof tops |
|
Homeless on the corners, they carouse |
|
Ferries float out in the Puget Sound |
|
Scenesters with their beards and tennis shoes |
|
Skinny girls and pudgy ugly dudes |
|
Lift their amplifiers from the ditches |
|
Southern doormen brood in barroom witches |
|
Seattle black, Alaska blue |
|
Oregon grey, raincloud Vancouver |
|
Dead in Denver, drowsy Idaho |
|
Just dreams away from your love, San Francisco |
|
In my room at Laurel and Beverly |
|
Your mind blossoms, mine is withering |
|
I'm retiring and you're aspiring |
|
You're dream-chasing, I'm only escaping |
|
Blood orange LA, blood red Arizona |
|
Lonestar Sante Fe, lone palm La Pomona |
|
Old soul San Antonio, dry grass of El Paso |
|
Lifetimes away from your love, I know |
|
From my view at 32nd Street |
|
Winter throws its snow down heavily |
|
Empty halls of friends who've come and gone |
|
I'm awoken, rushed, and dragged along |
|
New York, New York, New Haven, Hoboken |
|
The skylines appear spinning past in fast motion |
|
The words we shared dissolved as they're spoken |
|
All the worlds away from my love |
