Lyrics
Black clothes in the Baptist church parking lot They stare, we stare back Nothing to do but Walmart and gossip We don't do either Mountains keep us in Fog would let us disappear They say the ocean's cold and gray out there Sounds perfect Heard about a city Where weird is fine Where fog rolls in And nobody minds Blue Ridge gloom Keeping us down San Francisco fog Calling us home Trade these mountains For the coast Trade these hollers For those towers Pickup trucks and camo hats We wear black and don't explain "Friday night lights" and beer We stay home, read Poe again They think we're possessed We think they're boring Both probably right Neither one's leaving Blue Ridge gloom Keeping us down San Francisco fog Calling us home Trade these mountains For the coast Trade these hollers For those towers Golden Gate through the gray Haight-Ashbury ghosts Ocean cold and endless Finally home No more explaining No more stares Just fog and strangers Who don't care Cash register at the dollar store Four of us in a two-room place Greyhound tickets cost more than rent We've been saving since last October Dreaming of thick Pacific fog A world painted in grayscale Still here in the mountains Still wrong shade of pale Blue Ridge gloom Holding us here San Francisco fog Year after year Trade these mountains For the coast Trade these hollers For those towers