| I remember a girl from Tallahassee
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| And she was 21 and beautiful and sweet
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| And she took me to Jim Morrison’s old house near Florida State University
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| Where we went into the dark, dank basement
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| There’s an old chandelier covered in dust and rust
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| It was not then but later that we’d finally touch
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| Best to leave, I’m reaching for crystal’s picture untouched
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| So yeah, we each pulled a crystal from the chandelier
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| And we both said we’d save them for the rest of our lives as a souvenir
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| To remember our moment, our mutual love for the Doors
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| I’ll need a home for that crystal in a hundred years
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| It’s somewhere in my half-century's worth of sentimentals
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| I must find it and take stock of my guitars and their serial numbers
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| And organize my boxes of my Christmas cards and photos
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| I’ve got trunks' worth that will eventually have to go
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| To the Mark Kozelek Musuem
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| It’s to the Mark Kozelek Museum
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| I just need to find the right location
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| Cause home for me has been many places
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| It’s been station to station
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| Street to street, bed to bed, town to town
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| My home is many places
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| My feet cover many miles and miles of the ground
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| Not sure what my museum will be
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| Maybe it will be a chain all around the nation
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| Your modern home is plainly aesthetic
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| To when you’re on the tour bus in Almost Famous
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| And I dreamed I saw you one night in Boise, Idaho
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| You were a very different girl than the girl I used to know
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| There’s was a darkness that had fallen upon you
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| A nervous twitch, and your breasts were so much bigger
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| Your back was covered with tattoos
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| You were not 21 anymore, you had lived a hard life
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| In your eyes, it showed
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| Your lipstick was thick, your remarks to me had a wicked sting
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| As if some Las Vegas pinker had taken you under his wing
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| I didn’t ask what else you did for a living
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| But my heart was broken thinking of all the possibilities
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| What was the turning point?
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| What was it that could have happened to your warm, loving hug?
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| And I thought back to your young, 21-year-old fingers
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| And you said, «Oh my god, I just fucked my favorite lead singer»
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| And that innocent memory of you and I still lingers
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| In my dream, something had possessed you
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| Your soul was so hard
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| «It is your right to passage,» I said to you in the dream
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| «It is your right to passage,» I said to you
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| Finished the book The Boat to Los Angeles
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| Just as my flight landed in SFO from Los Angeles
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| Reminded me when I was living in Ohio in my teens
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| Working humiliating jobs that I knew were beneath me
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| When no one in the neighborhood much believed in me
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| «Sure you’re gonna make it, Mark, sure you’re gonna sing for a living»
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| «Sure you’re gonna make it doing the California musician thing»
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| «Sure you’re gonna make it playing guitar, Mark, sure thing»
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| Work up to the smell of smoke from the Sonoma fires
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| Gotta get up there and play a benefit and raise some money and inspire
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| Saw Ariel Pink last night, I said, «How you doing, my brother?»
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| His voice sounded shy, he said, «I'll be on another planet»
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| I could feel tension backstage, there was something going on in his eyes
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| He’s my brother in music and I told him it’s gonna be okay
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| Ariel Pink ain’t your run-of-the-mill indie rock
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| If it was 1975, he would be a household name and we’d be neck-and-neck
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| He would be David Bowie famous and I’d be Neil Young famous, selling out arenas
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| But that ain’t the case here in 2017
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| Backstage with our Crystal Geysers and Oranginas
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| He’s a Spotify king and his biggest song is «Another Weekend»
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| And I’m on Spotify too, they tell me
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| My biggest song is «Chili Lemon Peanuts»
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| Next time I see him, will probably be some indie rock festival in Europe
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| At some cafeteria, port-a-potties outside that reek of diarrhea
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| And while most indie rockers are onstage
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| Doing the most to keep their fans snoring
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| No one could accuse me or Ariel Pink of ever being boring
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| Diarrhea, diarrhea, diarrhea, diarrhea
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| Diarrhea, diarrhea, diarrhea, diarrhea
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| I thought back to our night that always lingered
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| I forgot to mention she was married
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| And God’s voice came to me in the night
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| And said, «You will both be punished, sinners» |
| I said, «I don’t believe in you, God, I never did, not even maybe»
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| I was a singer in a band, she was an impressionable young lady
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| And God said, «I am real and you will be punished for this sin»
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| And I replied, «Even if I am, it was worth it to feel the touch of her precious
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| fingers»
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| I told her God came to me in the night and said we’d burn in hell
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| Before she broke her vows
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| She said, «I don’t believe in God or my marriage much anyhow»
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| That’s me on guitar, Steve Howe-style
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| I’m in the seventh grade, listening to The Yes Album
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| I love you, Steve Howe, you inspired me
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| Like how hopefully I’ll inspire others
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| I got a Gibson ES-175 Sunburst just like yours, down to the very year
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| Actually that’s not true, it’s a '66, I wish it was a '64
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| One day, I hope it will be hanging in the Mark Kozelek Museum
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| And maybe that crystal that I took from Jim Morrisson’s chandelier
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| Maybe postcards sent to my father from around the globe
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| I just gotta find a spot near my home
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| Or my other homes far away from home
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| Maybe Sweden, cause I believe I lived there in another life
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| Maybe further up northern California
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| Because my happiest memories were fishing up the coast
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| Maybe my birthplace, Massillon, Ohio, because that’s where it all began
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| I don’t know, but my guess is right here in San Francisco
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| If my legacy can afford it
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| 10:35 AM, 10/27/2017, Telegraph Field
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| Meeting Jack and Nathan at Trieste at 11:30
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| Gonna sing me a book to a piece of music today
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| To quote Tony Montana, I’ve been quoting him a lot lately
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| I don’t know why, but the line in the movie where he says
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| «Then what? |
| You’re 50, you got a bag for a belly»
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| Never resonated until I turned 50
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| Anyhow, I dreamed last night that I was in the war in the Philippines
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| It may have been inspired by the photo I saw
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| A flash of Elorde at the boxing gym yesterday
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| That, and the movie Hacksaw Ridge
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| I watched with Caroline last night right beside her in her bed
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| I didn’t pay attention to the movie much and said
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| «All war movies look the same»
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| But really, I’ve been thinking bout all my things this year
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| And wondering what will become of them when I’m no longer living
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| I need to take steps for this inevitable thing
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| Like Jack Dempsey from Colorado, I’d like to be like him
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| I’d like to leave a few things behind for the Mark Kozelek Museum |