Donna Lee, can you make your presence known? It’s your pupil here, learning lessons on his own About what becomes of this world’s refuse.
Oh Donna Lee, poor you, Struggled in slow pursuit
Of that wandering satisfaction never met. Like your Elliot Smith, you chose asylum in your end. In Los Angeles, I touched his memorial wall: I signed your name.
Like the refugee denied her one request: A safe escape from the great unrest. In her rags, they dragged her off, disowned, Far away from where she’d dreamt The streets were paved with gold.
God, rest her soul. After all, you let her wander alone.
If you finally find Elliott Smith, I hope he tells you how much you were missed. So when you see him, wave him hello After the show (he’ll know, he’ll know) Still, I’m hurting to know If I’ll still feel your glow, or will I shiver…