Track Number 8

I crossed the highways like I did as a child

On my way to the movies, I pet cats and smile

I walk the back alleys, their John Steinback calm

Fake trees, lemon trees, tall shady palms

Big empty churches, old antique stores

Peeling Victorians that used to house whores

I take the back streets back to my digs

And look up at skies like I did as a kid

My bedroom, I'd look out and dream

Of a life close to what I'm living

A traveling singer who plays good guitar

At outdoor festivals, theatres and bars

And I got a nice girl, she's beautiful too

We're destined to be this, I know to be true

Sure there were others, but nothing this nice

She set the bait and I took the bite

The streets of Martinez, I love them so

I walk around thinking the sun's always low

The cats of Martinez, I love them so

I feed them at night, they run off and go

Four kitty cats, gave them their names

Monster Fluff, Half Fluff, No Fluff and Sammy

They're the highlights of my songwriting days

They're happy to see me, we sit and we play

These are some words I wrote down last night

I've beat 'em to death and I can't get 'em right

Songwriting's lonely, songwriting hurts

A relentless itch and bed bug curse

Songwriting costs, it doesn't come free

Ask Eliot Smith, ask Richie Lee

Ask Mark Linkous, ask Shannon Hoon

To get up on stage and sing you a tune

This business is troubling, a big nagging cyst

You get on this plane and I'll sit at your desk

And I'll leave at eight and be home by five

Call me from Warsaw if you have time

Ever wonder why there aren't more

Then ten songs on most albums?

Because it's a chore

To write half a dozen, some guys lay back

And rest on their laurels

Like lazy old hacks

Well I wrote this one

And I know it ain't great

Will probably sequence it

Track number eight

And pick up some water at 7-11

On my way to a mastering session

The streets of Martinez, I love them so

I walk out the door and the sun always flow

The cats of Martinez, I love them so

They help me forget my songwriting woes