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Sea of Cortez I George Wallace & Electronic Friends

SEA OF CORTEZ (3:40) Sea of Cortez, Sea of Cortez, break out the big black funeral train, temperature rising, oil rigs burning, reputations faltering, inside the cathedral so many roughnecks and roustabouts I almost thought I'd got caught up in it myself, Angelina read the names of the dead, all cried tears for a child who loved this world so hard it hurt the cortex, hurt the teeth, all cried tears so hard it hurt like gold of oil rigs burning in the miserable Sea of Cortez, we kneeled inside the cathedral, so many mourners waited outside, Angelina's voice purred like a Pontiac, so many dead, so many dead, the sun set Cordova Red, rain in the plaza, violence in the cafe, on the funeral train, black umbrellas and mascara scattering in the rain, lost days in the recovery room, mad men and wounded, wounded, government men and gurneys in the long cool corridor, nurses laughing uneasily, we adjusted our own bandages ourselves while a priest and a policeman argued over football and politics, and we waited for the day of our release, waited on the day, nothing left for us in this dirty old town, set sail in a time machine, set sail with the tide of men, any tide at all, drink rum again and trim sail on the Sea of Cortez, (so many dead, on the Sea of Cortez) From BURDEN OF PROOF, sixth album of songs with lyrics from poems by George Wallace, brought to musical life with AI/Digital assistance, Mar 2026. #georgewallacepoet