So long, Bodhi.

Poor old Pete's got nothing cuz he's been falling,
And somehow Sunny knows just where he's been.

He thinks that singin on Sunday's gonna save his soul,
now that Saturday's gone.
And sometimes he thinks that he's on his way,
but i can see, that his brake lights are on.

He just wanders around, unaffected by,
the winter winds yeah, and he'll pretend that
he's somewhere else, so far and clear,
about two thousand miles... from here.

(Jack Johnson, Taylor)

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