GK: She was a psychiatrist at UCLA
With a big house in Newport Beach
HT: And he was the designer of some fabulous apps
And a dot-com nouveau riche.
GK: She commutes on the 405
Fifty-three miles each way
HT: He goes to work in his bathrobe
Up in Sierra Madre.
HT: They met in a cafe in Rome
A real Roman holiday
She looked at him and he at her
And said, Hey---you're from L.A.
GK: They spent two weeks together
La Dolce Vita for two
And thought about getting married
As back to L.A. they flew.
HT: And she wants a house and children
GK: And he would like to be free
HT: And she loves her work at UCLA
GK: And his house in the hills is where he wants to be.
HT: But if she moved there her daily commute
Would be somewhere around three hours
From the foothills of the Sierras
To the Westwood office towers.
GK: And he can't bear the thought of Newport Beach
And leaving his hills behind
HT: And spending three hours a day in a car
The psychiatrist would lose her mind.
2: TRANSPORTATION, TRANSPORTATION
I love you, Antonio, dear Kathleen Mavourneen
But how will I get to work in the morning
GK: They thought about moving to Portland
HT: But she was turned down for a job
GK: He suggested Montana, Utah, Minnesota
HT: No arts scene, and where would she shop
GK: So she's dating a guy who lives up the street,
Another physician, of course.
HT: And he's got a girlfriend who's very depressed
Bouncing back from a bitter divorce.
2: And they both look away to the hills, to the sea,
The love they knew which never could be
As they think about Rome and the life of the heart,
And they make a penne arrabiata,
A glass of Chianti, an insalata,
Where they live, a city apart,
Those hands, those knees, those lips I miss
Here in Los Angelis
Here in Los Angeles.