Another Country

I'm there
with my big hair.

My face
not out of place.

Part of the gang.
Guitar man. Well, boy. I was young.

And those other faces?

Their names have gone.
I can't recall a single one.

The past is another country.
Israel, actually.

Life on a kibbutz.
Working. Drinking. Shagging.

And growing your own.

We wrote a song. 'Marijuana, marijuana.
Marijuana good for me and my girl.'

Funny how you remember the little things.
I do still remember the chords.

And the smell.

Everybody:

'Marijuana, marijuana.
Marijuana good for me and my girl.'

When we was fab