Something about the absence of any seasons
Of any sense of time going by
Something in the endless procession of palm trees
You'll fall in love and you'll never die
You get signed to a major Top 40 label
Blow David Geffen, blow Seymour Stein
You can make an atrocious Top 40 record
No one will know in two weeks time
Let ending begin
Rot in the wind
The end has begun
Rot in the sun
You can find your own love and a place to stay
Even in New York, New York but not in L.A
Be a movie star or a runaway
Somebody will love you in Cannes but not in L.A
Not in L.A. (C) (C)

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