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Somewhere high in the desert near a curtain of blue |
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Saint Ann's skirts are billowing |
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But down here in the city of limelights |
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The fans of Santa Ana are withering |
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And you can't deny the living is easy |
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If you never look behind the scenery |
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It's showtime for dry climes |
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Bedlam is dreaming of rain |
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When the hills of Los Angeles are burning |
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Palm trees are candles in the murder wind |
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So many lives are on the breeze, even the stars are ill at ease |
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And Los Angeles is burning |
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This is not a test |
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Of the emergency broadcast system |
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When Malibu fires and radio towers |
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Conspire to dance again |
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And I cannot believe the media Mecca |
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They're only trying to peddle reality |
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Catch it on primetime, story at 9 |
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The whole world is going insane |
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When the hills of Los Angeles are burning |
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Palm trees are candles in the murder wind |
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So many lives are on the breeze, even the stars are ill at ease |
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And Los Angeles is burning |
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A placard reads the end of days |
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Jacaranda boughs are bending in the haze |
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More a question than a curse, how could hell be any worse? |
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The flames are starting, the camera's running, so take warning |
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When the hills of Los Angeles are burning |
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Palm trees are candles in the murder wind |
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So many lives are on the breeze, even the stars are ill at ease |
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And Los Angeles is burning |
