L.A.'s asleep – you roll up your window
The night air is cold – the freeway is clear.
In a green Gucci bag – are you prized possessions
The jewels of your mind – to hold back the fear.

And when Monday comes round – there's a high lonesome sound
And she follows you down for the kill.
And a white blinding light – makes it all seem so right
And you feel like the king of the hill.

The driveway is long – your princess is lovely
Your servants all wait – for your knock on the door.
How many years – will you crawl through this castle
So satisfied – and still wanting more.
And when Monday comes…

The guests have arrived – with all the right faces
But you miss the ball – in that room down the hall.
It's sunrise again – the driveway is empty
The crystal is cracked – there's blood on the wall.
And when Monday comes round…