The Golden Gate

Looking back, to San Francisco Wearing my blue Chinese dress A yellow jacket with padded shoulders Smoking Sobranie cigarettes Four o'clock and the fog comes in We all remember the sea For several seconds our sins are forgiven Mine against you, yours against me Don't wait for me and don't be sorry Forget all the letters we wrote Leave to the foghorns our lonesome story Let them sustain the heavy note We order another margarita Sipping it slow by the window Nobody needs an Indian teacher All they need is San Francisco For we are driving most carefully home Down roads that are floating and veiled The Golden Gate It's still gold It's still great Nobody's drunk Nothing has failed