
Greetings from Laurel Canyon!
I see walls / But these walls aren’t in my way / And I read words / But they don’t have much to say / I don’t listen to the cops / I wish they all were dead / Listen to the planes flying over head / Listen to the sound of the loss and gain / I just listen to the sounds of the rain
Growing up on the East Coast, I assume April will have its rainy moments—rain, hail, thunder, lightning, and being caught in a storm, dripping wet.
Now, living in Southern California, I reexperience those springtime memories of wind and rain through song. I don’t think there’s much debate, like most things in the Trump era, that many things like the weather—or even a passport—are creepy.

























































