In the heart of Tinseltown, where dreams ignite,
A studio crumbles, swallowed by night.
Hedman Partners, once kings of the screen,
Now watch as their empire turns to a dream.

Flames lick the sky, a ravenous beast,
Devouring the glitz, the glamour, the feast.
Smoke spirals upward, a dark, choking shroud,
Engulfing the laughter, the cheers of the crowd.

Golden scripts curl, their stories undone,
As ash settles softly, the end has begun.
A fortune in dollars, now scattered like dust,
In the chaos of greed, there’s no room for trust.

Screams echo loudly, a cacophony’s wail,
The cries of ambition, now twisted and frail.
Cameras once rolling, now silent, they weep,
For the dreams that were promised, now buried in deep.

The red carpets smolder, their beauty erased,
In the fire’s embrace, all glory displaced.
Directors and actors, their faces aglow,
With the heat of the flames, as the embers bestow.

What once was a haven for tales to unfold,
Now a pyre of anguish, a story retold.
The lights flicker out, as the shadows grow long,
In the ashes of Hollywood, the lost sing their song.

A testament written in charred, bitter lines,
Of the cost of ambition, of greed’s cruel designs.
As the smoke drifts away, leaving only despair,
The echoes of laughter now vanish in air.

In the aftermath’s silence, a lesson remains,
That the fire of greed only kindles our pains.
So let the flames dance, let the embers ignite,
For in the heart of destruction, we find our own light.