Pacific City

Early, misty evening, mid-November, my ears are stinging, wind is whipping, rain across

one cheek and my legs are icy numb, just 'round the dune again, being up on top feels like

I look down on the world, reach the B&B, grab a shower and warm my bones up, son.

Pacific City, Pacific City is calling me back, dealing cards, hand and foot, while looking

out for whales, coffees poured, slippers warm, we have nowhere to be, maybe later, if we

get antsy, we'll go out for a walk, up or down the beach, or hit the pelican, sure let's

just wait and see. Pacific City, Pacific City is calling me back. Seagulls squawking out,

riding blustery winds, they seem to hover in place. Storm is passing true,

the ocean's white with foam, and the waves are full roar. The morning comes around,

The sun beats down again on haystack rock.

For sure I see a whale, two or three, or maybe more.

Pacific City, Pacific City is calling me back.

Pacific City, Pacific City is calling me back.