The mist is on the ridge again, like I saw it in my dream. The trees all try to speak to me, "Just go away." I hear them say. Hawk in the sky doesn't even wonder why. Does he even know, how hard I try? The smoke is on the ridge again, I can see it in your eyes. Nothing left to do, just kiss the firemen, goodbye. 600 miles to Portland. You know Portlands the new L.A. Or is it the other way? Either way, it's hard to catch a break. The light is on the ridge again. You watch it slip away. Maybe tomorrow we'll grasp the infinite between chants of U.S.A. And isn't that just the how it goes, forever in between. I wanna make you love me; I want to be obscene