The gulls are crying. Missy can you hear them call? It was so easy then, When all our friends were small. How we used to like the old-time movies, The silent picture show. Where you make up your life, At the end of the night, As your reel-to-reels unfold.
Now I come here to score some satisfaction. Maybe some more of that old reaction. I'm a junkie for that grand illusion. Who's losing and who's just using.
I lost my virtue, Leading some double life, I fear. It was so easy then, When all our friends lived near. Now I'm left without an advertisement, To separate the marks and the shills, From these good-time blues, And two-toned shoes, That choose to give me the chills.
I come to score, or maybe more. Who's using, who am I losing?
The summer's fading, I can feel it go. It's slipping through my fingers, Like some broken radio. The sea gulls flying, Missy, can you hear them call? I remember you cried when the summer died, Though I wouldn't cry at all.
Da da da dum, La da da dum, La da da da da da la.