The migrant whales
Are picking lettuce in Salinas
And all that’s come between us
Like the beach turning to sea dust
Lies unsaid beneath the rust
Covered now in snow

And I know enough not to reminisce
And you know enough not to go

The last rose of summer
Man what a bummer
And you in your slumber
Rehearse your silent show

And I count the sheep
Still left on the street
Since the last shepherd
Went and turned pro.