Written in Bass Lake, CA during a Thanksgiving trip to Yosemite. Not sure what I was thinking.
lyrics
Twenty-something,
When the girl made her way to the park.
Where she sat down, settled in,
Channeling her Gunga Din I heard.
I was there,
Close enough to see her breath in the air.
And her silver-painted eyelids
flashing S.O.S everywhere.
Forty bucks will get your
Car into Yosemite Park.
Half that if you come on horseback
But it's twice as far.
Twisting trails got no signs
Or a place for yer feet.
There's other ways to go but
You never know who you're gonna meet.
I was your creepy neighbor
From way back when.
In the house at the end of the road
That you never went in.
I'd like to be the kind of
Neighbor that just fits in.
Not some creepy old dude
Working in the mailroom named "Jim."
-interlude-
And in my mind it's just
her and me, makin' our way.
I've a feeling she's the one
That I seen back at Bass Lake
I catch you later maybe
Say it's not but a dream.
But the hello kitty backpack will
Make it number six or so it seems.
I was your creepy neighbor
In the house at the end of the road
I like to be the kind of neighbor that just fits in.
Not some creepy so-and-so in a dingy overcoat
Like him.
I can say anything that I wanted to say.
I do anything that I wanted to do.
You can feel everything cause feelin' is real.
You can take anything you think you could steal.
credits
from Trumpland,
released August 9, 2017
Guitars, bass and vocals: John McClellen. Percussion by Mike Spinrad.
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