Dark clouds storm your skyline mind. Stare down the barrel of a firing line. Ton of passions at the bottom of your hill. Push your piano out the window sill. Why ? It won't fly. Concrete boots at
Lust for Los Angeles. The Indian summer burns down. Waiting the stars cut the dusk. She runs for the ocean. and won't dare turn around. Summer lies. Burn my eyes. Summer lies. I want to stare
