Look at them all,
Duped out on supersonic waves,
Dumbed up and numbed too,
Cranked out on the high of life,
Wasted in the smoke,
Poor and broke,
Living off television static,
And the air of fortune.
Perhaps I wonder,
If the city of angels,
Is as heavenly,
As it seems to be.
Because the streets are golden,
But their hearts are stone,
And they're lacking homes,
When they dream,
Of jewels and fame,
But who is to blame,
For such catastrophe,
And lost opportunity.
Is it the stars,
That promise too little,
For too much,
Of a cost?
But the lights are too bright,
To be a false hope,
Or misconception,
For those waiting for riches,
Spending each endless day,
Wishing time away,
Drugged out on tunes,
Full of empty words.
Because it's so tempting,
To fade into,
The sunshine of,
Infamy.
