The Decemberists Follow

Grace Cathedral hill, all wrapped in

bones of a setting sun,

all dust and stone and moribund.

I paid twenty-five cents to

light a little white candle

for a New Year's Day.

I sat and watched it burn away

then turned and weaved through slow decay.

We were both a little hungry,

so we went to get a hotdog,

down the Hyde St. Pier.

The light was slight and dissapeared.

The air, it stunk of fish and beer.

We heard a <b>superman</b> trumpet play the National Anthem.

And the world may be long for you,

but he'll never belong to you.

But on a motorbike,

when all the city lights blind your eyes tonight,

are you feeling better now?

Are you feeling better now?

Are you feeling better now?

Some way to greet the year:

your eyes all bright and brimmed with tears.

The pilgrims, pills and tourists here all sing

"Fifty-three bucks to buy a brand new halo."

Sweet on a green-eyed girl, all fiery

Irish clip and curl, all brine and piss and vinegar.

I paid twenty-five cents to light a little white candle.

And the world maybe be long for you,

but he'll never belong to you.

But on a motorbike,

when all the city lights blind your eyes tonight,

are you feeling better now?

Are you feeling better now?

Are you feeling better now?

la la la, la la la, la la la.

ooh la la la la.