'cross the breeze...
now i left the so-cal yuplings behind in daly city and i packed up my things right when the sun was rising and i hitched my guitar over my shoulder and walked out the door (just like in a blues song) and

now

i live in a co-op in berkeley with the best and the brightest young 'uns i've seen in an indiana minute. i sit on the roof and sing the "sputnik blues" which goes something like this (bossa nova no-wave blues, of course):

space is big
laika is dead
sputnik is alone
so far from home

and now a word from the satellite

where is yuri g?
he knows where to find me.
russia hear my radio call,
mama, don't let me fall.

on the solar wind
is that the bark of a friend?
i was wrong,
just the electron ghost song.

where is yuri g?
he knows where to find me.
russia hear me calling?
mama, i'm falling!

and so i lost the cold war race.
my body burned as it fell from space.
goodbye, laika of my youth.
radio four told me the truth.
just one thing before i go:
russia, i loved you so.

the last thing that i felt my rivets were starting to melt.


city of angels upcoming, contact with agent N.W. le tiers imminent.
sayonara from the east bay, agent deth fuzz signing out.