There's no mistake i smell that smell it's that time of year again i can taste the air clocks go back railway track
something blocks the line again and the train runs late for the first time pebble beach we're
underneath a pier just been painted red where i hear the news for the first time
and all the friends lay down the flowers sit on the banks and drink for hours talk of the way they saw him last
local boy in the photograph he'll always be twenty three yet the train runs on and on past the place they
found his clothing