Grace Cathedral hill, all wrapped in
bones of a setting sun,
all dust and stone and moribund.
I paid twenty-five cents to
light a little white candle
for a New Year's Day.
I sat and watched it burn away
then turned and weaved through slow decay.
We were both a little hungry,
so we went to get a hotdog,
down the Hyde St. Pier.
The light was slight and disappeared.
The air, it stunk of fish and beer.
We heard a Superman trumpet play the National Anthem.

And the world may be long for you,
but he'll never belong to you.
But on a motorbike,
when all the city lights blind your eyes tonight,
are you feeling better now?
Are you feeling better now?
Are you feeling better now?

Some way to greet the year:
your eyes all bright and brimmed with tears.
The pilgrims, pills and tourists here all sing
"Fifty-three bucks to buy a brand new halo."
Sweet on a green-eyed girl, all fiery
Irish clip and curl, all brine and piss and vinegar.
I paid twenty-five cents to light a little white candle.

And the world maybe be long for you,
but he'll never belong to you.
But on a motorbike,
when all the city lights blind your eyes tonight,
are you feeling better now?
Are you feeling better now?
Are you feeling better now?


Grace Cathedral Hill -The Decemberists