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