She put a cigarette in the tip jar
But she, she never phones home
Acid blue smoke rising
His temper gone broke
Los Angeles Guitar Dream was a hoax.
And the streets are sighing, something classic in their eyes
They knowingly disguise
And the city is a waltzing, slow dance with the moon
That once made here swoon
And she used to leave him breathless
Always, always wanting more
But now its her breathing that has quickened
Running, running for the door
And the streets are sighing, something classic in their eyes
They knowingly disguise
And the city is a waltzing, slow dance with the moon
That once made here swoon