Going Through Pomona

The lights are on in your room so tell me

Who's your friend?

And the lights are burning in the little house on east end

And I remembered who I was

And what I came here for

The moon was caught high in the branches of the sycamore

And on my neck I felt the cold wind

And it licked around my ears and it asked me to ask you, yeah

Who's your friend?

And the lights came down over Pomona, blazed again before your front door

The moon was caught high in the branches of thе sycamore