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Los Angeles
I might be a stranger to the things you call your own,
Like armies marching towards a weathered, rubble-ridden road
'Cause I have never been to war or seen one televised.
I've stayed inside my sanctuary, innocent and blind.
Oh, innocent and blind, innocent and blind.
Remember the springtime and the love that it would bring?
It removed the wrinkles from February's skin.
Those were the good ol' days with a fire inside of us.
I remember dreaming of Los Angeles.
So, I might be a stranger to the things you call your own,
Like bible verses preaching of our elemental foes
'Cause I have never worshipped anyone outside my kind.
I'll stay inside my shelter seeing things with my own eyes.
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Seeing things with my own eyes, things with my own eyes.
Remember the summertime and the sun upon your face?
We were invincible in this godforsaken place.
Those were the good ol' days when the anger stayed within.
I remember dreaming of London.
I might be a stranger to the things you've seen and done,
Like funerals in neighborhoods where kids stand behind guns
'Cause I have never witnessed death or teetered on its line.
I've stayed inside my sanctuary, ignorant and blind,
And now that I am older maybe I've learened to question 'why?'
But I remember dreaming with you at night.
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