L.A.'s asleep - you roll up your window   The night air is cold - the freeway is clear.   In a green Gucci bag - are you prized possessions   The jewels of your mind - to hold back the fear.       And when Monday comes round - there's a high lonesome sound   And she follows you down for the kill.   And a white blinding light - makes it all seem so right   And you feel like the king of the hill.       The driveway is long - your princess is lovely   Your servants all wait - for your knock on the door.   How many years - will you crawl through this castle   So satisfied - and still wanting more.   And when Monday comes...       The guests have arrived - with all the right faces   But you miss the ball - in that room down the hall.   It's sunrise again - the driveway is empty   The crystal is cracked - there's blood on the wall.   And when Monday comes round...