Driving home from Savannah, we passed a place called Gibson’s Creek where there was a view of an old, broken-down house of grey wood at the end of a jetty which extended into a wide expanse of smooth river. It made a beautiful picture – very North American to my mind – and it resulted in this song. Hope you like it. [There are a few seconds of silence at the beginning.]

CLOSE TO MIKE
You’re back - tell me all about where you’ve been
Paint me some pictures in words of every exotic scene
Tell me some stories - it gets kinda samey here on the Creek
And I need the buzz of hearing you speak

We could rock on the back porch, watch the sun slip down
Those dark green waters where our aspirations drowned
When this old Creek’s wrapped in dusk’s embrace
It’s really almost pretty and then you can’t look in my face

Oh it’s so good to see you, say you’ll stay
Let’s lie cool and quiet - think up games to play
In the dawn you’ll leave me, disappear without a trace
But for now draw me close and I promise I won’t look in your face