I'll tell you a story
of lost love and glory.
(at least the int'resting part)
I remember it well.
Clear as a bell,
'bout the lady that brokered my heart.

I met her one night in Hollywoodland.
A blond in skin tight black leather.
Ticket in hand.
Some forgetable band.
Beneath the Hollywood weather.

After the show
with each other in tow
we pledged allegiance to each.
I gave her my heart.
She gave me her hand
on Santa Monica Beach.

We made the rounds.
The sights and the sounds.
Seeking achievement of aim.
I courted the hottest chick anywhere.
She courted fortune and fame.

We followed the stars.
Their limosine cars.
Playing Yerbouti the Sheik.
Met Billy Joel at the Hollywood Bowl.
Met Clapton playing the Greek.

Even Led Zeppelin
when they were the rage.
I scored 'em a perfect ten.
She went backstage to meet Jimmy Page.
I never saw her again.

I lost my true love to Hollywoodland.
The glitter.
The glamor.
The fame.
Though not what I'd planned
I'm just undermanned
for playing the Hollywood game.

I'll never recover
or stop thinking of her.
I see her face everywhere.
For now my lost lover
graces the cover
of Vogue
and Vanity Fair.