When what I came to say, is said. And the sun sets on my summer career. How September came for Sinatra. Now it's winter then it is a new year. . The big bright lights take Manhattan.
When the motor stops, I can't sleep. There's nothing so quiet as a boat under anchor. And the black amnesias in heaven. Are lighting the Sea of Cortez.
Four in the afternoon. I should be up and gone soon. This is the shirt. That I'm wearing out. . Torn at the elbow. From too much football. And one size too small.
In the deep south of heaven, on the wavering line. Where Tennessee will leave just in time. I'm writing it down, it will be different soon. You look amazing there stuck between me and the moon.