"There is a city by the sea
A gentle company
I don't suppose you want to?
And as it tells its sorry tale
In harrowing detail
Its hollowness will haunt you
Its streets and boulevards ,
Orphans , and oligarchs
And here's a plaintive melody
A truncated symphony .
An ocean's garbled vomit on the shore:
Los Angeles , I'm yours.
O ladies, pleasant and demure
Sallow cheek'd and sure
(I can see your undies )
And all the boys you drag about
An empty , fallow fount
From Saturdays to Mondays.
You hill and valley crowd
Hanging your trousers down at heel .
This is the realest thing
As anchient choirs sing
A dozen blushing cherubs wheel above
Los Angeles, my love
O, what a rush of ripe elan!
Languor on divans
Dalliance and dainty!
But the smell of burnt cocaine ,
The dolour and decay
It only makes me cranky .
O, great calamity
Dish of inequity and tears
How I abhor this place!
Its sweet and bitter taste
Has left me wreched, retching on all fours
Los Angeles, I'm yours.
Los Angeles, I'm yours .
Los Angeles, I'm yours."
they.are.poetry!