Oh you will be known, you will be loved.
Raise a glass of hope.
Raise a glass of liberty
And a glass of something else.
May we be at ease with ourselves!
To Los Angeles times,
To all the star-free nights and the sweet sunshine.
May we be at ease with ourselves.
And then I saw you,
Through the faux-serene,
The 'night like a room'.
Can't take my eyes off you,
I've forgotten who it is we were drinking to?
'To the Artist!'
He was born and raised
And moved away
And lost contact with his life.
In The Los Angeles Times,
He says, 'I wanna be known as a guy who gives a shit,
Who has contact with his life.'
Can't take my eyes off you
Between the walls, 'under the roof'.
O When I saw you,
In your deep serene,
Under the uncluttered moon.
You will be known, you will be loved.
And may I feel no worse,
May they be more than Conquerors.
Na na na na na na.
Blah blah blah, etcetera.
(for Walter Van Tilburg Clark)