All of my pretty friends
Moved to Los Angeles
And now they only visit in my TV screen
They get their picture taken
While I'm on the couch and thinking
I like watching them more than I like watching me
I hear all the girls in LA
Get their wings on Ventura freeway
And they're so pretty
They just float up into space
My GPS says paradise
Is some hotel off the 405 where no one sleeps
And they shower in champagne
I'm gonna find some kind of heaven
Even if it kills me
I'm gonna find some kind of heaven
Even if it kills me
All of my singing friends
Moved down to Nashville when
The pinstripe man offered them the moon
So they're chasing Johnny's ghost
While I thumb through the radio
And the man in black slowly starts to croon
I hear songs in music city
Can be sold for copper pennies
But only if you sell some of yourself too
I wonder what the going rate is
For a soul with rusty edges
Cause I'd be more than happy
To whistle you a tune
I'm gonna find some kind of heaven
Even if it kills me
I'm gonna find some kind of heaven
Even if it kills me
(I won't sleep oh
I won't sleep tonight
I won't sleep oh
I won't sleep tonight)
All of my other friends
Take pictures of sandwiches
And ask the internet how truly blessed a man can be
Though I fill the house with curses
My rage burns up the curtains
But I smile as the sunshine washes over me
I'm gonna find some kind of heaven
Even if it kills me
I'm gonna find some kind of heaven
Even if it kills me