Westin Bonaventure Hotel (404 S. Figueroa St.)

I came here as a child
Strapped in the back of a station wagon
Inside the great concrete lobby
Mother and father were fighting
About something inconsequential

Her earrings, his sunburn
I padded off to the elevator
I pushed the button for the top floor

And we begin to climb
And we begin to climb

On the third floor, an old man steps inside for a ride
And offers up his opinions on aqueducts and irrigation
On the fourth floor a nightjar flutters in with a grin
He chants a mechanical song, much to the old man's irritation
At seven we exit the shaft for the sky
Buildings and great birds of prey
The old man is slapping his thigh
While the nightjar praises LA

Now on nine some primordial palm tree's colonnade offers shade
To real estate men who would swindle an elder for a single dollar
Then on twelve I see Hollywood's Golden Stars in their cars
They drive down the yellow brick road
While Joseph Cotten pops his collar

On eighteen an elegant porter in linen
Ambles aboard, looking toward the upheaval
Says Kennedy's been shot at the hotel he'd been in
And the old man explains a poetics of evil

Twenty-six I see the city as a series of fires
Terror at farm-stands and liquor stores and pyramids of tires
A fragile peace is reached when we get to twenty-nine
While Hollywood destroys Los Angeles for the two-hundredth time
While we watch the survivors sift through the scenes
The old man explains what "pathology" means
And we begin to climb

Thirty-five, the menagerie takes their leave, I should grieve
But just as the loneliness sets in
The loveliest green-eyed girl steps in
We smile at each other and and she takes my hand
As the city is trembling and prone
All the buildings are turning to sand
We hold onto each other and ride up on our own
And we begin to climb
And we begin to climb
And we begin to climb