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It was the hottest day in July |
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And all along Santa Monica Boulevard |
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cars were stood still |
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And a gleaming metal tube |
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Would stretched all the way from highland |
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Back to La Brea. |
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And she met under the Los Angeles sunshine |
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Young man was sitting at the wheel |
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On his way to make a pickup |
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Turned off the air-con |
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Rolled down the window |
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And began to sweat |
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Out over the Hollywood hills |
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He saw the clouds building |
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Like great dark towers of rain |
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Ready to come tumbling down |
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Any day now |
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Not a day too soon |
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Any day now |
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And as the music drifted in |
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From other cars |
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His eyes started to slip |
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This is the story of his dream |
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Silver |
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Sing Blue Silver, Sing Sing Blue Silver |
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This is the story of his dream |
