الكلمات الأصلية
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It was the hottest day in July
and all along Santa Monica boulevard
cars were stood still
and a gleaming metal tube
would stretch all the way from the highlands,
back to La Brea,
and she met under Los Angeles sunshine.
Young man was sitting at the wheel,
on his way to make a pick up
turned off the air-con,
rolled down window
and began too sweat.
Out over the Hollywood hills,
he saw the clouds building
like great dark towers of rain,
ready to come tumblng down,
any day, now,
not a day too soon.
And as the music drifted in,
from other cars,
his eyes started to slip:
this is the story of his dream...
Sing blue Silver...
....this is the story of his dream...
