Los Angeles Times

You will be known, you will be loved

Raise a glass of hope

Raise a glass of liberty

And a glass of something else

May we be at ease with ourselves

To Los Angeles times

To all the star-free nights and the sweet sunshine

May we be at ease with ourselves

And then I saw you

Through the faux-serene

The night like a room, hmm

Can't take my eyes off you

I've forgotten who it is we were drinking to

"To the artist!"

He was born and raised

And moved away

And lost contact with his life

In The Los Angeles Times

He says, "I wanna be known as a guy who gives a shit

Who has contact with his life"

Can't take my eyes off you

Between the walls, under the roof, hmm

And then I saw you

To the deep serene

Under the uncluttered Moon

You will be known, you will be loved

And may I feel no worse

May they be more than conquerors

Na-na-na, nana-na

Blah, blah, blah, et cetera