Never meet your heroes that’s what they say
So I let you walk right by me at the café
See if I told you how I loved you and I wanted to be true
I’d have to admit I only care about the better parts of you

It’s midnight at The Hotel and the place is packed
But the doers stayed in Burbank, counting up their stacks
Except the flower man who’s shredding all alone where no one hears
He keeps his secrets locked up tight afriad that they’ll disappear

The dreamers at The Hotel we know where it’s at
Of course the scene is more important than whether notes are sharp or flat
Who gives a damn about the music I want to hear a story
We used to write about things that matter. Now we’re just taking inventory.

Oh, where’s that soul?
Oh, where’s that soul?

We are drunk again on a Wednesday night
Slouched on the floor of our apartment pulling apart Myspace pages
Wondering what the hell we are doing here cause nothing’s clear
Instead of thinking too hard, baby pass me another beer

Johnny reads James Joyce in the hallway
Holding a whiskey ginger and thumbing through the pages
The whole place is lit with candles as he takes the stage in the dark
Surrounded by fire we lay back and marvel at how he rages

Later I sit alone on the deck outside my room
On the fourth floor and wait for a pretty girl next door
To close those shades after a shower just wishing I knew her name
But I been so bad at playing, I think it’s time I get out of the game

Oh, where’s that soul?
Oh, where’s that soul?

The phone rings again and it’s another Indie salesman
Preying on my deepest and darkest fears
I hang up and fume, my head starts to swoon
Charles said to pop those baloons but I ain’t seen him in years

And both George Martins are ringing in my ears
This black and white comp book is filling up with tears
Unfinished songs that one day I’ll look back up on from the future
Now it’s just damage control and I’m in need of a suture

Oh, where’s that soul?
Oh, where’s that soul?

We strut into Big Wangs on a Thursday
With our finest T shirts on battling the Summer heat
And I duck behind the bouncer cause they’re checking IDs
And disappear into the crowd before anybody sees

Later a pretty girl sits down next to us
I consider proposing as she slides into the booth
Then I ask Johnny, “Hey man, what do we got to lose?”
“Only everythig,” he replies. And takes another shot of booze

Howard is handing out drinks for a smile
It’s Monday and The Kitty is empty again
Except for those of us searching for that rock star lifestyle
And the lonely souls of Hollywood hunting the streets for friends

So Tess and Johnny and I go out dancing
They say act like no one’s watching so that’s what I do
Tess rips open my shirt and laughs like nothing matters
I don’t believe that yet...but it’s probably true

Oh, where’s that soul?