As Hollywood sleeps, a young man is dying
on the concrete of a sidewalk downtown.
As his brother weeps, the sirens come calling
and the medics feed him lines on the ground.

And they say he's too young to surrender,
and they cry out, and they call him by name.
Their graffiti tells how he's remembered.
Still, the river runs on just the same.

Run river, run....

The director speaks. The cameras are rolling.
A boy steps between the backdrops and the lights.
And he's stealing the scene, with the crew as his witness.
The whole industry will judge him come academy night.

Now they say he's too young to surrender,
and they cry out, and they call him by name.
Their graffiti tells how he's remembered.
Still, the river runs on just the same.

Run river, run....

Now the tabloids will say what they want to,
and the cameras will re-enact his fall.
His legacy speaks, but no one can hear it,
cause his death has made critics of us all.

His legacy speaks, in the canister rooms,
in the archives of great studio halls.
And there it will keep, like a secret that's whispered
between lovers and those who never knew him at all.

And they say he's too young to surrender,
and they cry out, and they call him by name.
Their graffiti tells how he's remembered.
Still, the river runs on just the same.
Run River, run....