it was a sunday night
you had old friends in town
so did i, and me and mine, we got lost
on the drive to your house
those streets i'd come to know so well, were they trying to tell me
not to go to you?
it seems so silly now
to think of us on that bedroom floor
me playing Dylan songs on Dan's guitar
and you on the wurlitzer
in front of only one desk, two doors, and the bed
where i would rest my head
every weary night that year
we were both three sheets to the wind
but i guess we had to be
cause it was so hard to tell otherwise
if you felt for me
so, sitting cross-legged on the carpet,
my heart leapt when you nodded
after i asked if i could kiss you ...
one night, one wish, and after all this
you don't even write me anymore.
it reminds me of that night i ate shit
after i had to insist
on riding my bike with you to the store.
i miss you now
though i think it's good you left
and i'm just so sorry about
all the fucked up things we did
you were the sweetest that i ever had
and i must say i'm sincerely glad
i got to meet ya
though it was a troubled, tired time
in that house that was never really mine
on Califa.