That sign on the hill,
That ivory chapel to fame,
What those letters represent is a façade,
A corpse flanked by stage lights,
Shining and corrupt,
Sprawling yet shallow,
It’s a predator,
It has devoured countless souls,
The city sells glamour and exotic highs,
Whilst thirsting for youth and flesh,
Its alleyways are chock-full of corpses in tuxedos,
Skeletons of proteges and child stars,
It is beautiful,
The most lethal places are,
Those roads are coated in gold,
But peel those pavement stars up,
Slab by slab,
And underneath lies cancer and putrescence,
Those cityscapes hide much,
Casting couch teeth,
Vampires in directors chairs,
Narcotics around every block,
The city of angels?
An oxymoron to be sure.
