When I go to California I will never come home. 

The Sand Between my toes will keep me there. 

The taste of salt in the air will fill my lungs, 

And the warm rain will forever call me back. 

I can walk down the warf and watch the fish swim and the tides roll. 

I can go to the whisky, where morrison himself figured it all out. 

I will play music and live with the best, and never need to think of home. 

If I go to California I will never come back, 

I can just stay and fleat away in the ocean. 

The sin will be my mother, and the waves my father, 

And the warm rain will forever call me back.