Micheline used
to come to our house and knock on our door.
My dad would answer and say,
"What do you want girl?"
And she'd say,
"Can I take a bath with Mark?"
My dad would say,
"My son ain't here,"
Send her home and shut the
door and we'd all laugh.
And Micheline would
walk down the street
Glowing and smiling like she just got
Paul McCartney's autograph.
Her brain worked a little slower than the
others; she wore thick- rimmed glasses.
She took a different bus to school than oth
er kids and was in different kid of classes.
When she got older a neighborhood
thug moved in with her
And started taking her wel
fare payments.
He took her down to the bank,
Helped her withdraw her savings that was
put away for her and he went off with it.
The cops caught up with him,
he did a little time and cut too many years later.
He's doing life in a Florida penitentiary with his father,
both of them for murder.
Micheline,
Micheline. Micheline,
Micheline. Micheline, Micheline, Micheline.
She wanted love like anyone else.
Micheline, Micheline, Mich eline,
She had dreams like anyone else.
My friend Brett, my friend Brett, my friend Brett, my friend Brett,
he liked to play the guitar.
But he had an awkward
way of playing barre chords
With two fingers spreading his index
and middle fingers really far apart.
One day in band practice he dropped like a deer
was shot and was flipping around like a fish.
He had an aneurysm triggered by a nerve in his
hand from the strain he was putting on it.
I went to see him in Ohio; he had a horseshoe
shaped scar on his scalp and he talked real slow.
We played pool like we did in our teens and his head was
shaved and he still wore bell- bottomed jeans.
In '99 I was on tour in Sweden
when I called home
To tell my mom that
I got a part in a movie
When she said "Mark, there's
something that you need to know."
"Brett died the other day,
you really should send a letter to his mom and dad."
And I got on my train in Malmo
And looked out at the snow feeling
somewhere between happy and sad.
My friend Brett, my friend Brett. My
friend Brett, my friend Brett.
My friend Brett, my friend
Brett, my friend Brett.
He had a wife and a son.
My friend Brett, my friend
Brett, my friend Brett.
He just liked to play guitar
and he never hurt anyone.
My grandma, my grandma, my grandma,
my grandma, my grandma, my grandma.
Before she passed away we'd go and visit her
at my aunt's house when I was small.
I couldn't bear the shape she was in so at the
top of the driveway I'd sit in the car.
One day I was just fucking around when I put
it in reverse and I was free- falling.
I remember the car moving back
wards; my heart was beating and I blacked out.
Another car was coming down the street and I
totaled them both and I got knocked out.
My grandma, my grandma,
my grandma, my grandma,
my grandma, my grandma.
First time I met her, she lived in L.A.; I think
it was Huntington Park.
I made friends with a kid named Marceau and an
other kid named Cyrus Hunt.
We'd go downtown and get ice
cream and feed french fries to the pigeons
And talk to the handicapped
vets from Vietnam.
It was the first time I saw a hummingbird,
a palm tree, or a lizard.
Or saw an ocean,
or heard David Bowie's "Young Americans"
And I saw the movie "Benji" in
theaters.
My grandma, my grandma. My grandma,
my grandma.
My grandma, my grandma,
my grandma.
I heard she had a pretty hard life.
But after her first
husband passed away
She met a man from California and
he treated her really nice.
My grandma, my grandma. My grand
Sun Kil Moon 
