From an empty room on the first floor as the cars pass by the liquor store,
I deconstruct my thoughts at this piano.
And it's all that I can do to stay with all the things I didn't say to you
before you moved across the country.
From the burning building where I lay as I watch the starts become the day,
the LA girls are lacing up their sneakers.
They run the boardwalks and the beach.
This fishbowl life is all they need - it's everything I needed too until I heard the news.
I'll send this message through the speakers.
You told me that you moved.
I'll cross this country on a frequency.
I am slipping through, I am slipping through, I am slipping into the airwaves.
This is nothing new. You are slipping through my fingers and into the airwaves.
The static's where you'll find me.
From the corner by the studio the gold-soaked afternoon comes slow.
I deconstruct my thoughts and I am walking by.
On the 3rd street the freak show thrives: Santa Monica's alive -
but something's not right inside living with the news.
So hang on, it's gonna be a hard day.
So hang on.
Don't panic, don't panic there's simply is no need.
it's gonna be a hard day.
We are hanging here.