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I come from Tin Pan Valley and I'm moving right along |
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I live on former glory, so long ago and gone |
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I'm turning down the talk shows, the humour and the couch |
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I'm moving up to higher ground, I've found a new way out. |
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There's parasols and barbeques and loungers by the pool |
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The late night conversations filled with 20th century cool |
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My peers may flirt with cabaret, some fake the rebel yell |
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Me - I'm moving up to higher ground, I must escape this hell. |
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Let me suspend my thirst for knowledge in your powder, sweat and sighs |
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A grudge of Christian women, a stain of spotless wives |
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A perfect destination inside a perfect world |
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I take the bottle to the baby, you take the hammer to the pearl |
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Like this |
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Every day's like Sunday, down here on memory lane |
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Salad days and no good ways drive me quite insane |
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A cocktail clouded troubadour attempts to speak in tongues |
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He's said enough, I'm through the door I'm moving right along |
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Like this |
