Los Angeles Lyrics

He kneels by the creek to drink

His reflection and his catchrope

Trail him fourteen hundred miles

His arms are cold rifles spent

They bury themselves in black moss

And the swamp's wet smile

The creek

Whatever its pitch

Carries him off

Like a message

Who gets it?

Who sends it?

The bank holds its size

And shape

But somehow

None of his

Who built him?

Who'll end it?

The man in a Jersey walk-up, oh

The man with money at the fly, oh yes

La la la la la

The man in a Jersey walk-up, oh

The man without money for milk, oh yes

La la la la la

In corners and reckonless shadows

There are ropes of other kinds

And outside where a woman holds a rope

There's a stretch of starving Jersey pines

Back at the creek his halter shrugs

And he feels something

Tighten under his chin

And the dumbstruck man

In the water

Realizes maybe this is him

The man in a Jersey walk-up, oh

The man with money at the fly, oh yes

La la la la la

The man in a Jersey walk-up, oh

The man without money for milk, oh yes

La la la la la

He kneels by the creek to drink

His reflection and his catchrope

Trail him fourteen hundred miles

Probably she's in love

He thinks

And downriver there's another man

with his hand

In the swamp's wet smile

Both are bent by the water

Neither sees who he is

The man in a Jersey walk-up, oh

The man with money at the fly, oh yes

La la la la la

The man in a Jersey walk-up, oh

The man without money for milk, oh yes

La la la la la

Oh

Oh

Oh

Oh