Bleachers at the Troubadour tonight and I've got my whole closet on the bed — still can't decide if I'm going for the kind of outfit that says I'm here for the music or the kind that makes someone forget there's a band. Tell me which one you'd hope for.
Spent the afternoon shooting and forgot where I left my clothes. The camera's still rolling and I'm not ready to call cut. You'd want to see what happens after, wouldn't you?
Soda Stereo shook the Forum apart and I brought every bit of that energy home with me — too wired for clothes, not tired enough to care. You'd want to be here when it catches up to me, wouldn't you?
Miguel just closed it out and Long Beach is still vibrating — turns out 2000s nostalgia hits even harder the second time around. Bet you couldn't survive a full night out with me.
Cold Waves let out and Chinatown's neon is doing things to my mood that the music already started. You'd follow me down the wrong side street, wouldn't you?
Bikini Kill at The Wiltern tonight and I'm still putting myself together — fishnets on, attitude loaded, lipstick not quite decided. You'd be the one staring at me in the pit all night, wouldn't you?
Labor Day at the ballpark and I'm more interested in who's sitting next to me than the score. You'd let me distract you through nine innings, wouldn't you?
The reunion episode is on but I stopped paying attention a while ago. You'd rather watch me than reality TV, wouldn't you?
John Williams at the Bowl tonight and the Imperial March is still rattling around my head — no complaints, it fits the mood. You'd let me be the villain, wouldn't you?
Rom-coms always put ideas in my head that have nothing to do with the plot. The driver has no idea what's happening in this backseat and that's exactly how I want it. You'd want me to keep going, wouldn't you?