Pretty Bones

A summer in death City
Smoking hash and laying low
Looking for some inspiration
In a bus station window
The feeling that you're slipping
Is enveloping your soul
You've been walking 'round for hours
But the words don't seem to form

After all the times you've reached your last resort
You're still coming up short

Hollywood's a graveyard
All the stories have been told
But you're sifting through remains
Looking for some pretty bones
The skeletons are laughing
They must know something you don't
In the shadows there's an answer
That you simply can't ignore

After all the times you've reached your last resort
You're still coming up short

After all the times you've reached your last resort
You're still coming up short
You're still coming up short