Hallow-Wood Harvest!

[I] Welcome to the showroom floor. Here, the palm trees are just antennas for a broadcast that never ends. We don't bury the dead in L.A.; we just apply a fresh coat of primer. Step into the strobe. The Agent of Attrition is ready. The ink is dry. The binding oath is active!”
[1] Barter your soul for a fleeting thrill, While the canyon floor waits for its stomach to fill.
The sunset is a bruise. We surrendered our pulse to the Scavenger’s Mandate. Every power chord is a scream in the cage. The girls in the front row are just currency. We sold the "forever" for a "right now," and the Terminal Contract is coming due. The glitter on the sidewalk is just ground-up glass!
[P] Leather-bound predators stalking the Strip,
A bottle of venom and a fractured lip.
The Whisky is a furnace, a hairspray fire,
Burning the youth on a glam-rock pyre.
Spandex and spikes in the blinding glare,
The Grim Accord whispers through the bleached-out air. (Hallow!)
[C] The concrete here is a composite of pulverized ambitions. Every crack in the sidewalk is a ghost waiting for a callback. The industry doesn't want your talent; it wants your marrow. You are the lubrication for a machine that manufactures silence. There is no legacy, only the data-entry of your demise. The Long-Term Indenture has no exit clause! (Hallow!)
[2] From the Strip to the shadows of a downtown floor, The heavy steel slides as they open the door.
Perversion and power in a dark-room haze,
Losing our minds in a goth-rock maze.
The industrial thud of a heart made of tin,
Letting the rhythm lead us to sin. This Shadow Covenant chains us to the floor, Before the labels came knocking and broke down the door!
[C] The concrete here is a composite of pulverized ambitions. Every crack in the sidewalk is a ghost waiting for a callback. The industry doesn't want your talent; it wants your marrow. You are the lubrication for a machine that manufactures silence. There is no legacy, only the data-entry of your demise. The Long-Term Indenture has no exit clause! (Hallow!)
[B] The neon rotted. We moved from the stage to the warehouse, trading hairspray for grease. The music sounds like a hydraulic press. The Clandestine Agreement was signed in the strobe light. We are the surplus. Every drum hit is a stamp on a shipping container. The Obsolescence Agreement was drafted in the smoke! (Hallowed!)
[3] Across the Atlantic, the temple is deep!
The Primeval Slumberer awakens while the Americans sleep! London is a basement—L.A. is a porch! One is the wildfire—the other’s a torch!
In Paris, they bleed for the sound and the sweat!
In Hollywood, they’re just checking the net!
They have the history, the grime, and the law!
We have the filter and the structural flaw!
Saturate the senses from the Thames, while the Basin is dry! In the Old World they dance—in the New World they lie! (Shrine!)
[O] The lights go out, but the hunger remains. Another bus pulls in. Another unholy debt to settle. Welcome home! - Hallowed!! 

Fast 110 BPM/ Los Angeles Style- Dark Techno, Goth Industrial, Witch House, Male.