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lyrics

Finally to bed, in the neighborhood of dead, from a gathering of all personnel
I couldn’t fall asleep, I was conscious of a deep sense of purpose, and a northwest swell
I slipped out of bed in the dark, “embarking,” the journey is never complete
I wrote a pithy note to my son and my wife
Who are sleeping through the surfing life

Though I spend the week, underwater (so to speak), in a critical advisory role
I’ve created space, there are processes in place, for the benefit of body and soul
I’m satisfied with a pre-dawn ride, which—at least—takes the edge off the beast
Weekends are for fun with my son and my wife
And adventures in the surfing life

Average body mass, over foam and fiberglass, balancing harmoniously
Existential dread, when it’s pumping overhead, and you paddle ineffectually
Accelerate, to a heightened state, any other realities fade
On the edge of a knife, my son and my wife
Disappear into the surfing life

Shivering I stand, meditative in the sand, and wondering if I’m getting old
“Practice what you preach,” say the ghosts at Ocean Beach, and I catapulted into the cold
Jolted awake in the breakers, I’ve never felt more intensely alive
Everything is one says my son to my wife
When he contemplates the surfing life

credits

from Some of Us Are Free, Some of Us Are Lost, released April 19, 2019
Bob Hillman – acoustic guitar, vocals
Jonny Flaugher – double bass
Phil Krohnengold – organ, electric 12-string guitar
Griffin Goldsmith – drums, percussion, drum programming
Rich Hinman – electric guitar

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about

Bob Hillman San Francisco, California

Bob Hillman is navigating the second act of a career that began in the late 90s, flourished in the early 00s, survived ten years of “real jobs,” and resumed in 2016 with the Peter Case- produced Lost Soul.

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