The shadows break across the walls

Of a dim lit room pushed up against darkened halls.

This blanket-laden bed won't take the shape

Of the sleeping silhouette I used to watch as I lay awake.



And half my life is on California time,

The other half is sitting here in Boston,

Trying to picture her 3 hours behind.



Maybe she's climbing cumulonimbus mountain tops;

Whipped translucent white with precipitate that hasn't dropped.

Maybe she's grinning, remember snow angels and cider drinks;

Her skin percolating in memory, raising bumps as her stomach sinks.



Cuz' love's the stuff that let's you live

Without limiting your life.

The give and take that takes the shape

Of the last one that you see at night...



And half my life is on California time,

The other half is sitting here in Boston,

Trying to picture her 3 hours behind.



But picture frames, they don't feel the same

As arms around a shared last name

Taking shape on this olive-stained

Portrait of a girl.



Falling asleep holding telephones,

She's on her shore and I'm on my own,

Making love through this dial-tone.

This dial-tone....



And half my life is on California time,

The other half is sitting here in Boston,

Trying to picture her 3 hours behind