In dreams of a world that is winding down,
Where workers'll always be blessed,
The hermit assesses the seaboard
And finds that it's all he's got left.
The scenes of the tourists die suddenly,
Old California unrest.
He knows the grass won't watch itself,
Hell in the mountains out west.
Pipe dreams and plywood, he sees it all,
And makes love the shame that it is.
If disaster's swimming in anyway,
Why won't the saints visit him?
He wrote our whole history out on Tamalpais,
Keeping it close to the chest,
But he knows the past won't wash itself,
Hell in the mountains out west.
Sixty spins out of a rabbit hole,
Seconds away from the gun,
Lost in a teenage eternity,
And brothers who blew through the sun.
He whispers, "I'm going home to my old Alaska,
Easing away from the stress,
I love you all, goodbye and go wild."
Hell in the mountains out west.
credits
from Scenes Of The Tourist,
released January 13, 2017
Written by Kyle Wall
Featuring Phoebe Hunt (violin), David Moss (cello) Shane O'Hara (percussion), David Speranza (upright bass)
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