We draw a map, a line from here to there.
Each forms his expectations.
What he, what we'd like to see, to sing.
Late and long the nights grow, they pass.
Still we plot, and scheme our California dream.
Of little else we talk, or think or breathe.
Nothing more, but California dreams.
Our eyes are wild, but patiently we wait.
Off we go, silently into the night.
On our chase, our chase of the sun -
And our eternal summer.
On and on, across the pavement,
We listen - mostly to the strange breathing of ourselves
And of the automobiles, ours too.
A strange rhythm, asymmetrical,
But beautiful - young and deep.
Like the blood in our veins,
As it flows, sweet, innocent - but running.
To gaze, at the glaze, the stones under our feet.
A tree is growing like our friends
And their ship - it sails through this.
The lights are glowing in our eyes.
Maps,
Photographs,
Curtains of glass.
Slowly to a close,
Our eyes too,
Close like bordering letters in the alphabet.
Or objects in the mirror, closer than they appear.
And the wet pavement could be a mirror.
Our California, California nights.
Dancing in the roadway, the speedway.
We ride the down highway.
And though we own the sky,
We'll share.
Pounding to the beat,
We sing, we put,
Our feet just where they had to go.
And then we sleep upon the sand,
A rest from our cares - our annoyances.
The waves, they crash, distantly.
The city sleeps.
The neighbors and pubs sleep too.
The car sleeps.
The sea creatures, are likely asleep,
But who is to say for sure?
We sleep, we need it.
The clouds cover us, cover all.
All who sleep, and all who don't.
Awakened by the rain - it pours.
A race to escape, dampened by the drops.
As they fall, we fall - we tumble like them.
But, no one is alone, no one is left.
We sleep in the back, in the seats, on the floor.
The morning came, so did the sun.
And thankfully everyone is happy.
We sleep, because we need it.
We need it.
We need it.
We see a storm through the airwaves,
And we hear our shaken earth, cry.
But, we pray, we eat.
The ocean tried -
To swallow us whole, one swift gulp, gone.
But it spit us right back out,
Maybe we aren't suited for the blue.
Our deepest respect to her majesty we give.
And even though we wash the sand off our feet,
It seems to find a way back.
Onto our shoulders, and hair, and inside or behind our ears.
But, we don't mind our crusty skin -
Our smiles make all the difference.
Certainly this is what happiness is like.
But, nobody minds, or bothers
To explain it all to me, or to anybody,
And they don't need to,
We all understand; it is all understood.
Time spins around,
The sun is setting on our California dreams,
And across the desert sage.
At moments we sing, but we listen too.
We asked for much, but we got more.
And a large portion of the moon, lent his light to us,
Lent us his smile, he is our other guide.
Along with maps of paper,
Maps of the solar system -
We are covered with nightdreams,
Crusty like our skin,
And the grains of sand,
We try to ignore as they spill through the glass.
Telling us that time is running.
We, children, look back.
Our eyes long,
Our lashes droop,
A glance at the night ahead and
The corners of our mouths turn down,
For inside we suppress the urge -
The urge to frown.
Not to dwell on what's to come,
We just miss our summer sun.
And so our eyes return to the way we have just come.
From the California sun
And guide our hearts back.
Back to the westest bit of sky.
Where each night,
The sun does lie - still,
Warm enough and big enough -
It seems like it was made just for us.
But, who can say that for sure?
