Nobody Somewhere

She's sitting at a stoplight waiting.
 She's tapping on her dashboard contemplating gridlock.
 The green lights don't mean anything here.
 L.A. has never seen a shortage
 of imported protégées to sort, order, and trade on:
 A freeway to subordination.
 Somebody's always the toast of a small town.
 You show up with dreams that burn down when it turns out
 you're nobody somewhere.
 Yeah, you're nobody somewhere.
 She's sitting at an empty table
 abandoned by the major labels and attendants.
 She drinks their flat champagne with her friends.
 Last call and now the panic sets in.
 Which after-party will they get in all depends on
 defending that campaign for a friend or a friend of a friend.
 Fame is a rain cloud you follow around
 but the raindrops all dry up when they touch the ground
 when you're nobody somewhere.
 Yeah, you're nobody somewhere.
 You know 'em just barely but name-drop 'em all
 and I'll bet that they rarely pick up when you call
 when you're nobody somewhere.
 Yeah, you're nobody somewhere.
 They say the neon lights are brighter there.
 They say there's always music in the air
 but they don't care if static's playing on the radio
 'cause even the back of a packed display case
 is attractive to somebody nobody knows.
 So welcome to somewhere, where fame is eroding
 the borders and our population's exploding.
 You're nobody somewhere.
 Yeah, you're nobody somewhere
 and nobody knows.
 Nobody somewhere.
 Nobody knows.