While the sun’s going down in the Bay, San Francisco, the Pacific and a pale white moon, a western sliver in the pale sky blue, My bus was supposed to come an hour ago, they say, And now I’m getting cold, standing on the corner, watching the cars go by, what a gas, living on peanut butter sandwiches, on the last cup of coffee and the next paycheck— Just got a job, oh boy, can’t wait till it’s all over, And then I can wait for something to happen, Wait for my car to blow its transmission or for its tires to lose their air. And wait for Christmas, oh boy, What am I gonna do? Meanwhile the sun’s gone down in the Bay, San Francisco, the Pacific and a pale white moon, a western sliver in the pale sky blue.
21 June 1974