No bluejays yakking for me to wake up any more, no gurgling creek, I’m back in the grooky city and I’m trapped.
“So we drive back to town and go to the mad boarding-house to drink some more and I pass out dead drunk on the floor as usual in that house, waking up in the morning groaning far from my clean cot on the porch in Big Sur—No bluejays yakking for me to wake up any more, no gurgling creek, I’m back in the grooky city and I’m trapped.”
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