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SPOKEN |
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This following program is dedicated to the city and people of |
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San Francisco, who may not know it but they are beautiful, |
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and so is their city. This is a very personal song, |
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so if the viewer cannot understand it, |
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particularly those of you who are European residents, |
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save up all your bread and fly Translove Airways to San Francisco, USA. |
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Then maybe you'll understand the song. It will be worth it. |
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If not for the sake of this song, but for the sake of your own peace |
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of mind. |
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Strobe light's beam creates dreams |
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Walls move, minds do too |
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On a warm San Franciscan night |
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Old child, young child feel all right |
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On a warm San Franciscan night. |
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Angels sing, leather wings |
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Jeans of blue, Harley Davidsons too |
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On a warm San Franciscan night |
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Old angel, young angel feel all right |
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On a warm San Franciscan night. |
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I wasn't born there, |
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Perhaps I'll die there |
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There's no place left to go |
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San Francisco. |
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[instrumental interlude] |
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Cop's face is filled with hate |
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Heavens above, |
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He's on a street called "Love" |
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When will they ever learn? |
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Old cop, young cop feel all right |
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On a warm San Franciscan night. |
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The children are cool |
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They don't raise fools, |
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It's an American dream, |
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Includes Indians too. |
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[instrumental to end] |
