Mountain Goats, The
Going Through Pomona
The lights are on in your room so tell me who's your friend?And the lights are burning in the little house on East EndAnd I remembered who I was and what I came here forThe moon was caught high in the branches of the sycamoreAnd on my neck I felt the cold windAnd it licked around my ears and it asked me to ask you, yeah, who's your friend?And the lights came down over Pomona, blazed again before your front doorThe moon was caught high in the branches of the sycamore
From Letras Mania