All my friends live in studio apartments in Hollywood.
They all have used couches.
And Instagam accounts.
And gym memberships
And empty fridges
And nowhere jobs
For nowhere dreams
They were sold by nowhere men
Who took their nowhere innocence
And auctioned it off to the nowhere God.
Above us all in the Hills, you see.
The nowhere gods and goddess and their un-fun play.
All day and night on our 21st century Olympus.
Our gods. We worship. They play.
We sing. We dance. They be merry.
We work. We toil. They eat. They drink.
We are not alone at night in our studio apartments.
We have the booze
And the music
And the poetry.
And the TV.