Testo San Francisco, 2005

San Francisco, 2005
Dirty jeans and a swollen eye
An open field and the bay’s rising tide
A setting sun and a downed kite
A little boy with a bowl cut forgetting
That life’s as long as it is now twenty-seven
The hero’s cape is a ghost sheet
And all that’s left are some crow’s feet
You keep on the phone lines
Follow the road signs
And make it back home
You can be so kind
You show me I know mine
My places to go

Sonoma County, one year ago
Healed my soul with an ice cream cone
And Jackson called me as I walkеd down the tracks
Kicking rocks and them bouncing back
The sky was rеd and I saw the time passing
And it all felt like a joke with no one laughing
But maybe grief is the thing that I need To bring me back into everything

You keep on the phone lines
Follow the road signs
And make it back home
You can be so kind
You show me I know mine
My places to go

Prospect Park and I am sitting up straight
With the knowing posture of a monk
It’s May if 2025 and I am writing
To get myself out of a death-induced funk
People go out the same way they came
Through territory uncharted
Then life is spent just waiting for it to change
Until you’re back where you started

You keep on the phone lines
Follow the road signs
And make it back home
You can be so kind
You show me I know mine
My places to go