Written in Pacific Grove during a trip to the annual CTA conference. Lots of teachers and fresh air near the ocean.
lyrics
The fog hides the pines,
While the sun takes it's ease.
There's a breeze that's a freezing,
Yet I'll stand her taking my time.
The salt stings my eyes and my ears
Burn with what's being said.
All that's missing was a confession,
That's the trouble with a world that grows so unkind.
Then the bell tolls for us,
There's a rush then a sit-down
And a count-down till the next sound's
Us getting up without ever having said much.
While I'm here,
Relaxing in the ocean air,
I'm all there,
I'm all there,
There on the coast,
Old men linger like ghosts.
Gathered in by a strong wind
They were blown in and flown in for love.
While I'm here,
Relaxing in the ocean air,
I'm all there,
I'm all there.
Inclined as I am,
I'l not judge understand
I'm a fan,
Yes I am.
With the sun setting slow,
Man the air feels real cold.
In a place this amazing they were praying
You'd stay all night long.
Then the bell tolls for us,
There's a rush then a sit-down
And a count-down till the next sound's
Us getting up without ever having said much.
credits
from Trumpland,
released August 9, 2017
All words and music by John Mac and the Moraggots
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