You once said I read too much Le Carré or maybe Guevara, which could be true but I’m really just a hillbilly at heart with dreams of going to Chile with you on a fast boat running guns, but no más because you, you can dream forever without ever remembering who I was lying in your bed somewhere in Argentina reading Borges, wearing that black beret you brought with you from Bolivia, sweet Olivia, daydreaming of nights with Che.