[00:40.360]Neon drips through palm leaves, slow and bright,
[00:44.697]Sirens slash the salty waves at night.
[00:49.160]Eight million stories wait to be saved,
[00:53.475]But mine’s just labeled: "On the Run" in bold engrave.
[00:57.854]Convenience store lights bleach expired dreams,
[01:01.798]A homeless man trades coins for twilight’s gleam.
[01:06.452]Under the freeway, a Latina queen
[01:11.042]Plays static love songs on a radio unseen.
[01:16.958]Los Santos, my hometown’s name,
[01:23.251]Where saints and sinners pray the same.
[01:27.454]Fire escapes rust to veins so tight,
[01:31.716]We catch starlight in beer bottles—cheers to the night.
[01:36.368]Bikers carve wounds down Sunset’s spine,
[01:44.366]Beverly Hills roses stab through cardboard signs.
[01:48.211]Chinatown lanterns still burn with ’90s lies,
[01:52.708]While cranes hook the ocean right out of the sky.
[01:58.502]Every GPS whispers "Let it go,"
[02:01.531]Every "Love" sign flickers "For Sale" in glow.
[02:06.371]When tides steal the shore’s tattooed past,
[02:11.079]We’ll all become waves—just not the last.
[02:16.656]Los Santos, my hometown’s creed,
[02:23.113]Banks and chapels share one bricked creed.
[02:27.373]A Mexican boy counts bullets, slow,
[02:31.672]As the Pacific dips the sun to gold.
[02:55.283]Chopper blades mince the stars to shreds,
[02:59.017]I salute the CCTV—one last respect.
[03:03.350]Like tombstones, elevators sink from sight,
[03:08.175]While the city autosaves… into the night.

Neon drips through palm leaves, slow and bright,
Sirens slash the salty waves at night.
Eight million stories wait to be saved,
But mine’s just labeled: "On the Run" in bold engrave.
Convenience store lights bleach expired dreams,
A homeless man trades coins for twilight’s gleam.
Under the freeway, a Latina queen
Plays static love songs on a radio unseen.
Los Santos, my hometown’s name,
Where saints and sinners pray the same.
Fire escapes rust to veins so tight,
We catch starlight in beer bottles—cheers to the night.
Bikers carve wounds down Sunset’s spine,
Beverly Hills roses stab through cardboard signs.
Chinatown lanterns still burn with ’90s lies,
While cranes hook the ocean right out of the sky.
Every GPS whispers "Let it go,"
Every "Love" sign flickers "For Sale" in glow.
When tides steal the shore’s tattooed past,
We’ll all become waves—just not the last.
Los Santos, my hometown’s creed,
Banks and chapels share one bricked creed.
A Mexican boy counts bullets, slow,
As the Pacific dips the sun to gold.
Chopper blades mince the stars to shreds,
I salute the CCTV—one last respect.
Like tombstones, elevators sink from sight,
While the city autosaves… into the night.