Your grandfather's guitar
Thinking about how funny I must look
Trying to adjust to what's been there all along
With the boat kiosk lady and her sleepy amigos

But it ain't a holiday until
You go to fetch something from the car

Travel size champagne cork pops
And we're sweeping for bugs
In some dusty apartment, the what's-it-called café
You can arrive at 11 and have lunch with the English

But it ain't a holiday until
They force you to make a wish
They say: Climb up this
And: Jump off that
And you pretend to fall asleep on the way back

No, it ain't a holiday until
You go up to fetch something from the car