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The Decemberists
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Los Angeles, I'm Yours
作词：Colin Patrick Meloy
There is a city by the sea, a gentle company
I don't suppose you want to
And as it tells its sorry tale in harrowing detail
Its hollowness will haunt you
It streets and boulevards, orphans and oligarchs are here
A plaintive melody, truncated symphony
An ocean's garbled vomit on the shore
Los Angeles, I'm yours
Old ladies pleasant and demure, sallow cheeked and sure
I can see your undies
And all the boys you drag about an empty fellow found
From Saturdays to Mondays
You hill and valley crowd, hanging your trousers down at here
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This is the realest thing, as ancient choirs sing
A dozen blushing cherubs wheel about
Los Angeles, my love
Oh, what a rush of ripe elan, languor on divans
Dallyiant and dainty
But oh, the smell of burnt cocaine, the dollor and decay
It only makes me cranky
A great calamity, ditch of inequity it's here
How I abhor this place, its sweet and bitter taste
Has left me wretched retching on all fours
Los Angeles, I'm yours
Los Angeles, I'm yours
Los Angeles, I'm yours
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