(Gibbard)
Photographs of the best time you had,
Windows smuged by the speed,
Leaving home with our bags from Iron Street as the morning turned into
California.
And smoke trailed from the butt of my cigarette,
Our glass house it threw rocks at all those it passed.
Waking up to the sound of 5 am to take my turn at the wheel, climbed up Shasta
Oh how the engine ached as the sun toturned California.
And old alleys tugged deep at the heart of me,
Murals of heroes defacing the blank concrete.
Vision tunnled: mission street hunger beat - lodged out as the engine wheezd,
Still moving regardless of stable ground - and this stable ground.
Photographs of the best time you had,
Windows smuged by the speed,
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