You've got me thinking of a desert sun!
I can't work like this no more,
And that West Coast (Best Coast) yearnin'
Has got me so.
Damn.
Sore.
Sir, you tease me with these horrid things:
These gated windows and humid springs...
Good Lord, set me free!
Let the freedom pour
In all of its dryness,
In all of its smog--
Look at my hat and look at my heart;
This is where it all started
And where I belong!
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