Saint Augustine

Your gunshots were stuck on repeat Drowning out the quietness that I worked to create So there's you - you with your manicure And me in my stocking cap in te trunk of your car Oh, to think of the explanations That you will soon conjure for the reporters With their beady eyes, strapped in pressed jackets With termeramental microphones, and lack of respect And there's you - you with your car Headed for St. Augustine just as fast as the sun I will see you again