Scene of the crime, the Missouri Botanical Gardens. Illegal beauty. Acres and acres of green, serene, lush, maintained grounds. Goddess statues and stories, a tropical dome, lily pad ponds, trees of every origin, and Robert Shaw's Italian villa. Nature's best face.
Surrounded by red brick structures, red bricks all over. This town is crumbling. Louie, Louie, oh no, me gotta go. Ayi-yi-yi-yi. Dump your old dreams into the Mississippi River, send them to the sea.
Narrow are the roads, tense are the neighborhoods. No quaintness. Broken cars and broken windows. The Spirit of St. Louis is dull and despondent. Dim.
Surrounded by red brick structures, red bricks all over. This town is crumbling. Louie, Louie, oh no, me gotta go. Ayi-yi-yi-yi. Dump your old dreams into the Mississippi River, send them to the sea.
Narrow are the roads, tense are the neighborhoods. No quaintness. Broken cars and broken windows. The Spirit of St. Louis is dull and despondent. Dim.
