The concert is over and our weary bodies work our way uphill into our hotel rooms, where we sprawl our sleeping bags out till the floor’s filled. Take turns at the ice chest and we drink to our fill as rockers are known to do. But I don’t fill easily anymore, and leave the hotel room in search of more drinking to do. But if you could see it my way, you could might understand me, that I found the smile that faith took away from me.

There’s a black and white composition book where I write down all my random thoughts and ideas that would be fast forgotten if I didn’t write them down right on the spot, cause memories fade too quickly, now, to no remembering.

Goddam, I am so fucking pissed of that I’ve never spoken to the president. If I had the chance, I’d fucking tell him that oh, “this is not your America, because it’s ours”. Just tripping on all this good weed I’ve been smoking.

Goddam, I have been awake for two days straight now, but been too drunk to notice anything wrong. And I had the chance to live out my life dream, but instead I end up fucking everything up for me. Now I’m just spilling my tears in this cheap beer I’ve been drinking. Soon I’ll be drying my eyes over cheap wine. So viva Los Angeles!

This mountain-view morning is the perfect way to get over these longest nights. Three pitchers of pitch black coffee and a picture with Deena later, and I’m alright. If you could see what I see, you could might understand me, cause I wouldn’t mind if you never find me. If you never find me, then NOremembering served it’s cause, cause you don’t remember me at all.


Lyrics submitted by headphones on

Fear and Self-Loathing in Los Angeles song meanings
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