The girls on the streets all look sad in this gold encrested little town. Why is that?. Isn't this the town of dreams?. yeah... But it comes with a price. It's a town that never does anything and yet takes all the credit. A place that promises so much. But never has a thing to say. Or a care in the world. There is no memory here. No dream for itself but the dreams of others. And all over the world you talk of a place you've only seen in re-runs. Immorallized for it's vice and deified for it's carnage. (There's money in the air there). (All you have to do is reach up and grab it). In basements garages parking lots empty lots schoolyards town cars backrooms and more. Diamonds are fashioned from expectations and fortified on a steady diet. of simple lives and red carpets. The ejaculating zeitgeist in nightvision. Culture is a punchline and emotion is blood in the water. The sharks here play games you can't fathom. But you flock here anyway. On college money and credit cards. Spend a week bullshitting yourself that it was all true. All of it. Just to watch in horror as it all falls to pieces under the gravity of reality. The stary eyes fade as it dawns on you. Nothing is garanteed. You are a part of the great divide. The choosen or the frozen. Now your mouth's away without a net. Your college money's a collage of debt. and your credit cards are all snapped in fucking half. time to wander a landscape bereft of mercy. This is now the backlot of your failed movie. A waking dream re-written without your permission. The real luster the soft focus the.... Soap opera vision is just the hindsight of a world who's been lied to. Of sad surfs and untouchable lords. You took a chance didn't you?. But chance didn't have a par for you this time around maybe next life. And you can't even walk home. The girls on the streets all look sad in this cardboard cut-out little town. (huh) No wonder. That's the only thing here that's real. The gold is for fools. And paradise is lost but the hungry have never bothered with the cost. Day by day they fall away like rose pedals. Like ink that won't dry or fade. It just runs wild down cracks and crevices grooves and folds. so I hope someone saves you before you get cold. I really do. Because the girls are all sad in this little black book. If you don't beleive me take a closer look. if you can