| I guess sometimes I’m lucky
|
| When I go
|
| For whole days at a time
|
| Without thinking about you
|
| And ask myself why
|
| But then I find I’m traveling
|
| Traveling down
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| To that same old piece of road
|
| And wind up down by the water
|
| Whatever happened to our walls on the pier?
|
| I cry myself alone
|
| All the way down to the end
|
| I drink my bottle dry
|
| And heave it across the bay
|
| To the city
|
| Smashin' outside your door
|
| Oh now there goes the Romeo
|
| Hand in hand
|
| With his punk rock Juliet
|
| They remind me of two people
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| That I’m trying my best to forget
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| I can hear their sweet nothings
|
| On the wind
|
| As I hurry to get by
|
| Diverting my gaze
|
| To the Oakland Bay Bridge
|
| Whatever happened to our walls on the pier?
|
| I cry myself alone
|
| All the way down to the end
|
| I drink my bottle dry
|
| And heave it across the bay
|
| To the city
|
| Smashin' outside your door
|
| (Could that be you honey, way over on that side?
|
| Flashin' a signal to me, Down by Pier 39
|
| 'Cause if I only knew, I’d jump in that water
|
| And swim right across, drowning in my relief)
|
| Maybe I should be warning them
|
| Should I say, «Don't do something that you’ll regret
|
| Now you have no recollection
|
| Of heartbreak you don’t have yet.»
|
| I could give them an earful
|
| But I know
|
| They must find out on their own
|
| And the thought of that
|
| Is chilling me to the bone
|
| Whatever happened to our walls on the pier?
|
| I cry myself alone
|
| All the way down to the end
|
| I drink my bottle dry
|
| And heave it across the bay
|
| To the city
|
| Smashin' outside your door |