Death (or S.F.?) - Twain

You’re guaranteed to have a real good time

If you go to San Francisco where the weather’s fine

Something rare happens in the air

I was walking through the park

Getting stoned with local losers

Dreaming of my girl, but knowing that I’d lose her

My mind turned to dream of the world

Making love I thought I felt the stars

The atoms of my mind drifting apart

That’s something I didn’t know how to do

That’s somethin' I learned to do with you

Who knows, maybe death will be your friend

Who knows, what’s in that letter he sends

And if you’ve never been to San Francisco

How do you know it won’t be

Just like that, when you

Peer over the edge

Into the swirling blackness

To find yourself standing at the shore