I left my city for San Francisco
And I'm writing from the Golden Gate Bridge
But it's not going as I planned
I took a free ride off a billionaire and brought my typewriter
And promised myself that I would stay, but
It's just not going the way that I thought
It's not that I feel different, and I don't mind that it's not hot
It's just that I belong to no one, which means there's only one place for me
The city not quite awake, the city not quite asleep
The city that's still deciding how good it can be
English
