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