See the old dog lie down on the steamy concrete
A grin upon his lips beneath the solar eclipse
The last living thing to walk the streets
See the lone crow take flight from the telephone wire
And the palm trees sway in a dusty breeze
Dreams of clear blue skies, wings span wide
So peel me off the road
It’s time to head home
For what it’s worth I have searched in the distance
For something I could hold in my fists
Put a penny on the tracks up in Miramar
The smell of chaparral
The old mission’s bell
Sends a solemn note up the coast
Well freeways ain’t so free
The way they twist and weave
But end up nowhere any different from here
You’re always thinking of where you’d rather be
The train’s romantic moan
A passing parade of snow
It’s never real as it flies past my window
The cardboard cut out trees caught in the high beams
They shiver and shake with no roots
See the old dog lie down on the steamy concrete
Blood upon his paws as twilight falls
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