Where I live now   Is a little red house   Down on Wilcox and Fountain   Los Angeles   I sleep through the sirens   Police lullabies   And I ride   My little black bicycle   Down to Bogie’s      And drag queen Cecilia   She’s the last true believer   She’s walking the Boulevard   She’s handing out leaflets   That nobody reads   Cause they know all the secrets   And the don’t need a reason   To be, so scared      And this ain’t no kind of scene, babe   Why in the world would you follow me here   And this ain’t no kind of scene   Why in the world would you follow me here   You followed me here      My friends and my worries   They got old in a hurry   But no less deserving   A fond farewell   And bellbottomed cheapskates   They’re all asleep in the heat wave   And they wake up   From their dreams   Of the sixties   Find that nothing has changed   Baby nothing has changed      And this ain’t no kind of scene   Why in the world would you follow me here   And you believe what you wanna believe   And this ain’t no kind of scene      And I hang out with singers   Bunch of glass jawed bleeders   Whose skin   Is as thin   As a leaf   And there’s actors   And dancers   And more second chancers   Than lights