Wax Museum

Walking the beat down this glittering street, illuminated with a fluorescent glow, beauty more shallow than skin, molds of painted paraffin, pay the man at the door to see the show. Fancy sports cars, smell of cheap cigars, city of lost angels and shooting stars, the beat drowns out the hollow sound, and there’s card-board houses lining skid row and a fog over the valley casts an eerie orange glow…The beat drowns out the hollow sound.