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I'm the piano player down at Eddie's bar |
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And Rachel she's the waitress who wants to be a star |
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She swears she's gonna make it, make it big someday |
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And she'll send me picture postcards from L.A. |
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When it's time for closing, I play while Rachel cleans |
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She listens to my music, I listen to her dreams |
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She swears she's gonna make it, she's going all the way |
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And I say, "Send me picture postcards from L.A. |
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Send me postcards from L.A. signed with love forevermore |
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Picture postcards from L.A. to hang on my refrigerator door |
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Rachel, if you find me one, I'd love a picture of |
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The California sun |
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When Rachel shares my pillow she always asks me things |
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Like do I really think she's pretty, do I like the way she sings? |
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I don't know how to answer, so I always smile and say |
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I say, "Send me picture postcards from L.A. |
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Send me postcards from L.A. signed with love forevermore |
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Picture postcards from L.A. to hang on my refrigerator door |
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Rachel, if you find me one, I'd love a picture of |
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The California sun |
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Sometimes Rachel stands up in the middle of the bar |
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And does a scene from the late show |
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We all clap our hands as she puts her apron on |
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And says, "Next week, I'm gonna go" |
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She'll even buy a ticket and pack her things to leave |
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Though we all know the story, we pretend that we believe |
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But something always comes up, something always makes her stay |
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And still no picture postcards from L.A. |
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Send me postcards from L.A. signed with love forevermore |
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Picture postcards from L.A. to hang on my refrigerator door |
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Rachel, if you find me one, I'd love a picture of |
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The California sun |
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I'm the piano player down at Eddie's bar |
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And Rachel she's the waitress who wants to be a star |
