Composed by Stan Rogers | © Fogarty’s Cove Music

Now it’s getting so I’m mad when someone says your name
‘Cause I’ve had to say good-bye to friends who couldn’t stay away
And sometimes it felt so wrong to never want to lean on you
You may stand tall but I’ve got two feet too

They talk of you in bars around a quiet beer,
And tell their tales of mind-gone stones when no-one else can hear.
And later on outside they say they’re getting on a plane
To fly away and live in you again.

California My friends all call you home
And if you take away another I’ll be that much more a-lone
Is it my fault that my kind are always drawn toward the sun
Like a child to home whenever darkness comes.

In a few more years I won’t remember what it was to play
The music of old friends who need to live so far away.
But can I once taste Northern waters then forsake them for the South
To feel California’s ashes in my mouth.