I heard he got a job painting fences at a site on Levi Street.
We used to be the best of friends way back then,
skipping stones and comping changes.
We used to drive up north and honky tonk each night,
but he's married now to an east coast wife.

He was my brother beneath the shade of the July plum.
There was no other who stood tall at the sound of the battle drums.
Let in the ancient, let in the new.
Let in the stars and the old country moon.
Let in the ancient, let in the song.
I know you can hear me - I believe you're still strong.

We'd watch the sunrise at the intersection,
buy apples at the grocery place.
I hope he didn't sell the record collection...
Maybe grew up or needed space?
He's a working man, he's a midwest man.
He don't take no shit, he don't need no hand.

So I don't need him either- go on you ugly vagrant memory.
Shameless deceiver. I remember back when he said to me:
Let in the ancient, let in the new.
Let in the stars and the old country moon.
Let in the ancient, let in the song.
I know you can hear me - I believe you're still strong.

I believe we're two babies on a picnic blanket.
I believe we're still boys at a work desk in summer.
I believe we can build things, and chase things, and sweat,
and when I'm drowning at the end I'll forget.

He used to play guitar- no one could play that way.
Such a sad, sad waste. It hurts me to this day.