A CHRISTMAS SONG
Music and words by Jenn Lindsay

a long time ago a little ghost was born in old Mexico
a long time ago a little ghost was born in the Boston snow first ghost grew and went to San Francisco:
she liked the fog, she liked the coast second ghost stayed in the Boston snow: he liked the snow. His ears were always cold. Not so long ago, on a bus to Boston, Christmas eve On a bus to Boston to see my new thing What the hell is this, who the hell is she Loving hard and loving good and dreaming little dreams Of all the things you leave behind the half-drawn napkins the half-drawn rhymes

won't you write a Christmas song and give it to me?
A Christmas song a Christmas tree, thrown out on the street Christmas bus to Boston, your letter on my knees Christmas bus to Boston, your letter on my knees

On the Brooklyn bridge a view to liberty
Sun splits the water, I feel better near the water
I ask you to be better, ask myself the same thing
Won't stop looking back or caring what they think
Just lie down with my new thing
Be better with my new thing

I miss San Francisco where the fog rolls deep
Where all the hills are half-drowned by white, silky feet
Fog a blanket, fog a cloud, fog a memory
Fog a ghost, fog a shroud, fog what you miss
You think fog is just fog?
I guess it is
A distant ocean moves in you the fog rolls over you
I don't think you'll lose yourself but if you do
I will find it and bring it back to you
I will find it and bring it back

To not so long ago, on a bus to Boston, Christmas eve
On a bus to Boston to see my new thing
Thinking this is different than anything before:
more a place to stay than pass
More a home than just a door

Won't you write a Christmas song and give it to me?
On a bus to Boston, your letter on my knees
Christmas bus to Boston, your letter on my knees