The Car

Your grandfather′s guitar
Thinking about how funny I must look
Trying to adjust to what’s been there all along
With the boat kiosk lady and her sleepy amigos

But it ain′t a holiday until
You go to fetch something from the car

Travel size champagne cork pops
And we’re sweeping for bugs
In some dusty apartment
The “what’s-it-called café”
You can arrive at 11
And have lunch with the English

But it ain′t a holiday until
They force you to make a wish
They say, “Climb up this”
And, “Jump off that”
And you pretend to fall asleep on the way back

No, it ain′t a holiday until
You go to fetch something from the car