the city of lost history
of good people that have done bad things
of a fictitious past and an even more suspect future

a myth, a silent yet pervasive marketing message
promises of greatness and the delivery of nothingness
like shoes that fall apart while they're still fashionable

these idled pimpled walls are architectural responses to youth subculture
and the homestead for millions of isolated and lonely pilgrims
this is the only place to pawn dreams

an igloo of tabloid news defending from worldly injustices
where respecting the spectacle is a profitable lie
where paradise is punctuated by honks of inconvenience

even the loaf of bread has a story to tell
delicate soil to an overpriced shelf
with enough water and shit, the desert can grow anything,
even disappointment