| No… No golden mile |
| Or flashing cameras, the ritzy style |
| Just … just scrap book smiles. |
| There’s no need to hurry, when all she has is time |
| She, she, she, she’s going home |
| Between the pagodas and always alone |
| Down on Sunset Boulevard, you’d sell your soul before your car is paid for. |
| The only laughing sound you hear, from blind men cause they hold no fear of |
| darkness |
| With every flashing theatre light, a startled welcome through the night is |
| glowing. |
| But every mother’s son is dead, they choked upon the daily bread they prayed |
| for. |
| Friends… friends pass on by. |
| She gives a performance, they call it a lie. |
| Only … only late at night. |
| She still sees the traces of the city lights |
| Sun Sun … Sun … Sunset Boulevard, the devil can take her, she’s been there |
| before |
| By the broken ballistrade, an idol from another age is swaying |
| Softly singing Gershwin songs, but every other note is wrong and straining. |
| And once again her glass is dry, the bedroom mirror cannot lie forever |
| For down on Sunset Boulevard they’ve lived too long and laughed too hard to |
| love her |
| The telephone is ringing … but there’s no reply |
| A gramophone is singing … sweetly out of time. |
| And in the hall, screaming for the final scene … |
| Passing through their eyes, peering for the view. |
| With her name in lights, The lady’s news. |
| And in her sleep they call her… loving every smile |
| Lining every street to see her. .. starry eyed and wild. |
| Again she wakes, screaming for the final scene. |
| Passing through their eyes, peering for the view. |
| With her name in lights, The lady’s news. |