Photographs of the best time you had,
windows smugded by the speed
Leaving home with our bags from Iron Street,
as morning turned into California,
And smoke trailed from the butt of my cigarette
Our glass house it threw rocks at all those it past

Waking up to the sound of 5 AM to take my turn at the wheel
Climbed up Shasta, oh how the engine ached
as the sun tortured California,
and old alleys turned deep at the heart of me
Murals of heros defacing the blank concrete

Vision tunneled, Mission Street, hunger beat
lodged out as the engine wheezed
Still moving regardless of stable ground
and this stable ground

Photographs of the best time you had,
windows smugded by the speed
Leaving home with our bags from Iron street
as morning turned into California