Here's Brian Glaze with Rain Splitter.

After this cold rain split,

yet two free ways of redemption and fire were when fleeting your old springtime flowers

from the feast of St. John and your mom.

And I was held back by my bootstraps

because your freeways have got no faith

that just numbers and directions of no rural comfort

as a ride

on the back

of your rowing little wane

A-da-down I lay on Because all we came to see

Was our face upon the screen

He was drive on by those older band

Shops of vacant dreams

And you whispered.

Brian, I want to go back to California.

I just want to see what it's like.

And I was picked up, from your stick up.

I took that bread truck

Back to the golden gates

Where I flocked a Folsom blue

Bought a white all monish suit

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