this is the place where all the junkies go (time gets fast but everything gets slow)

August is the weirdest month to me. weirder than ever this year, and I think that's only going to intensify every year now. till I'm living in San Jose or Cambridge or Vancouver or Austin or something.

you see I don’t usually drink like this

it was something in the way

the sounds of the West Coast came through to me

I don’t usually want to act like this

sit in the backyard all night

trees and heat spinning all around me

fine upstanding kid but I could use something

I could use a shot of whatever you can find

I’d like to sit in the grass with my friends

seven hundred miles to the west

watch the sun slow us down

and take this opportunity to rest

August days, the air itself is dangerous

makes you crazy, makes you look behind you twice

halfway between leaving here and coming home

crickets in the trees, noise in the dying light