Album: The Empire Strikes First (2004)
Somewhere high in the desert near a curtain of a blue,
St. Anne´s skirts are billowing
But down here in the city of the lime-lights,
The fans of Santa Ana are witherin´.
And you can not deny that living is easy,
If you never look behind the scenery.
It´s showtime for dry climes,
And Bedlam is dreamin´ of rain.
When the hills of Los Angeles are burnin´,
Palm trees are candles in the murder wind.
So many lives on the breeze,
Even the stars are ill at ease.
And Los Angeles is burnin´.
This is not a test,
Of the emergency broadcast system,
When Malibu fires & radio towers,
Conspire to dance again.
And I can not believe the media Mecca,
They´re only trying to peddle reality, catch it on prime time, story at nine.
The whole world is goin´ insane.
When the hills of Los Angeles are burnin´,
Palm trees are candles in the murder wind.
So many lives are on the breeze,
Even the stars are ill at ease.
And Los Angeles is burnin´.
A placard reads,
The end of days,
Jacaranda bows are bending in the haze
More a question than a curse,
How could hell be any worse?
The flames are stunnin´,
The cameras runnin´,
So take warnin´.
When the hills of Los Angeles are burnin´,
Palm trees are candles in the murder wind.
So many lives are on the breeze,
Even the stars are ill at ease.
And Los Angeles is burnin´.
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