Sublime - Mark Kozelek

Pretty painting of flowers on the wall

It’s pink and blue and white, and that’s all

There are tuners and cables on the floor

I was listening to David Bowie’s «Tis a Pity She Was a Whore»

There’s an avocado on the microwave

Oh I miss you, I miss you, I miss you, I miss you babe

Thanks for sending me sunflower seeds

And my favorite imported Japanese green tea

And a few shirts I left back home

Those look better than these photos

They’re taking here at the mobile recording studio

They’re taking photos I guess, cause I’m getting old

They’re taking photos while they can

Here in room 209, overall things are going pretty fine

Unlike the singer of Sublime who died next to his dog

Down the street when he was in his prime

I walked past the Oceanview Motel the other day

And thought about a lot of things along the way

Like how we used to bring your dog to the beach and play

Like the Musée Mécanique that went away

Like the one time I ate at the Beach Chalet

With some friends I haven’t seen in over a decade

Along the trail, always a beautiful array of California flowers

I wish I knew their names so I could sing them

I could feel the oceans pound

And I felt a light shower always tingling my face

Then I ate lunch and I cleaned my plate

And I headed west back to the Great Highway

Stopped at Java Beach Café

A girl was crying because a homeless guy was mean to her

He yelled, «I'm from El Salvador, motherfucker!»

and he left

I saw surfers run from the avenues fast to catch waves

There’s probably an event

Judging by how many of them were running

And how fast they were running, I’d say

Now I’m watching CNN and there’s Al Gore

Headline: «Do You Think the President Believes in Climate Change?»

Recording here in this hotel room is kinda strange

It’s like a Hitchcock film in here, but it’s a good…

I ran out of words just now, I’ll come up with something fast

That’s how I work, I don’t stick around with nothing long

Now I’m gonna borrow a line from 2Pac to keep things moving along:

He said, «We don’t have the motherfucking luxury

To spend this much motherfucking time on this one motherfucking song»

And the sun’s going down

And the fog covers the Earth

And the sun’s going down

And the fog covers the Earth

And the sun’s going down and the fog rolls through the Earth

Like frankincense and myrrh in a church

And the sun’s going down and the fog covers the Earth

Like a kitty cat foot on your Persian rug

And the sun’s going down and the fog covers the Earth

Like a monstrous spooky ghost

And the sun’s going down and the fog covers the Earth

And my windows are steaming

And the sun’s going down and the fog covers the Earth

Like a big gray thermal shirt on a big man

And the sun’s going down and the fog hovers over the Earth

Like Bon Scott’s soul hovers over Perth

And the sun’s going down and the fog moves through the Earth

Like a bunch of grandmas moving through Woolworth’s

And the sun’s going down and the fog crawls through the Earth

Like a big fat caterpillar crawling through the dirt