I'm gonna give you a call, from this air conditioned bar, before these cocktail lights all disappear like the night wind on my back: I'm not the leavin' kind but I've got leavin' on my mind. You get so diffused. You wanna kiss the ground. Take it up next year, chalk it up to remember: wasted lonely fever. Enough concern to ride it out: it's no surprise that it's a long slow fade.

Two dozen songs of leaving left here including music by Spain, Tom Waits, and The Weakerthans.

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