| She draws a line in the sand with her feet
|
| And there’s an old man walking in the middle of the street
|
| And as the sun goes down, well, she calls me a fool, you know
|
| 'Cause I’m still sitting here in my room
|
| And I peak out my window, or I close my eyes
|
| Saying goodnight to the Westside.
|
| Well, the sun feels warm on my face these days
|
| And I’m slightly removed from the smog of L.A.
|
| But I’m still searching those things I just can’t see
|
| Like how a beautiful face can hide her life from me
|
| Take a deep breath as she asks for a ride
|
| Saying goodnight to the Westside
|
| Well, I come home late in the evening time
|
| And I try to ride down to the beach, and I stare up at the sky
|
| And I lie on the Venice sand
|
| And I think about her, and I think about all of them, all of them
|
| Sometimes I’m thinking about all of them
|
| And I roll my windows down
|
| And let the air flow all around me
|
| As I start to drive
|
| Say goodnight to the Westside
|
| To the Westside
|
| Goodnight to the Westside |