I come from Tin Pan Valley and I'm moving right along
I live on former glory, so long ago and gone
I'm turning down the talk shows, the humor and the couch
I'm moving up to higher ground, I've found a new way out

There's parasols and barbecues and loungers by the pool
Late night conversations filled with twentieth-century cool
My peers may flirt with cabaret, some fake the rebel yell
Me, I'm moving up to higher ground, I must escape their hell

Let me suspend my thirst for knowledge in your powder, sweat, and sighs
A grudge of Christian women, a stain of spotless wives
A perfect destination inside a perfect world
I take the bottle to the baby, you take the hammer to the pearl
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Every day's like Sunday down here on memory lane
Salad days and no-good ways can drive me quite insane
A cocktail-clouded troubadour attempts to speak in tongues
He's said, “Enough, I'm through the door, I'm moving right along
Along, along, along”
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