A jet plane was noiselessly moving from East to West
Soaking up the pastel splashes from a setting sun
Like a flower child flying machine
Touched by the glow of golds and pinks
Of a more innocent time

Fly me back in a life aside my dreams
A real life with flesh
With bones and desire that catches fire
And burns with more than sleepy heat

Move further coastward
And place me on your wing
Standing with neither ache nor pain
In turbulent perfection

Traffic me to San Francisco
When Willie Mays played honest ball
Let me taste the spray from the bay
As I take wing of my own and set down on Telegraph Hill

Allow me to walk the grounds of the Presidio
And feel the energy about to be unleashed
In this city which does not belong to a nation
In this illogical design and immigrant oasis

Just when all heaven is about to break loose

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