The Car

Your grandfather's guitar

Thinkin' about how funny I must look

Tryin' 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 somethin' from the car

Travel size champagne cork pops

And we're sweepin' for bugs

In some dusty apartment, the what's-it-called café

You can arrive at eleven 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 somethin' from the car