I´m on my way to where you are
I know you´re still living on Santa Monica Boulevard
I pass all the familiar spots
Places I see now that I´d rather not
I know I left some things behind
I told you when I walked out to throw away whatever you find
Your black drapes keep away the sun
I wish you could see all the gardener´s done
In your bed I see a child's hand
Reach from under the covers to touch the nightstand
I need something to hold onto, man
Your hallway filled up with too much at one time
Are you still taking home whatever you find?
Let come what may make way soon
We went picking elderflowers in June
You´d spot the branch from the ground
I'd climb the ladder, and I´d cut ém down
I try to take only what´s mine
But sometimes you need to grab whatever you find