los angeles, i'm yours
Singer:decemberists, the
there is a city by the sea
i don't suppose you want to
and as it tells its sorry tale
its hollowness will haunt you
its streets and boulevards
orphans and oligarchs it hears
an ocean's garbled vomit on the shore
and all the boys you drag about
from saturdays to mondays
you hill and valley crowd
hanging your trousers down at heel
this is the realest thing
a dozen blushing cherubs wheel above
oh what a rush of ripe elan
the smell of burnt cocaine
ditch of iniquity and tears
its sweet and bitter taste