From Whispers of a Dreamer
Saxophone Nostalgia
Oh for old Beatnik days, down on the Peninsula
Winter green hills gray Greco sky
Dimming afternoon light in the living room at the Chateau
Listening to jazz in the rain.
Whatever happened to all those teenage faggot mystics?
Intense young ladies? Eccentric old dropouts
Living in the chicken coop out back?
Spades busted in Redwood City for a broken taillight and a roach?
The refuse of suburbia. . .
New roads are cut through those old hills
But the rain still falls
Some of our songs are still being played
On strings that can cut right to the heart
Our littlest sisters have kids who can dance to our music
And the love we made
Did not fade away.