sour

the city of stars

it called for me

with rooftop bars

places to see


i was only young

it made me sick

clothes i wrung

a smoke, a kick


overcompensate i did

for who i would always be

a scared, lonely kid

a low, wailing plea


the freedom is rare

they watch your every move

to speak up you wouldn’t dare

in case they all disapprove


the girls, fake tan and bleach

licking sticky, strawberry lips

like lemons on a beach

a sour that always drips


from the fangs they try to hide

beneath careful, curated laughs

to spare your fragile pride

they don’t want your autographs


the energy is gone

from the life you once had

decay has started to spawn

i’m sure it makes them glad


because angels don’t run this town

in fact we’re far from that

blood drips from the crown

fueled by idle chitchat


so i’ll pack up my car

but find the tires all slashed

we’ll never get too far

the dreams this place has dashed


but there’s one thing i ask

one final plea

don’t let me die

under a mask

take me far, far away

and let me finally

be free.

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