Lyrics:

Somewhere high in the desert, near a curtain of blue
Saint Ann's skirts are billowin'
But down here in the city of limelights
The fans of Santa Ana are witherin'
And you can't deny that livin' 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 are 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
Where Malibu fires and radio towers
Conspire to dance again
And I cannot believe the media Mecca
They're only tryin' to peddle reality, catch it on
Prime time, story at 9
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 boughs are bending in the haze
More a question than a curse
How could hell be any worse?
The flames are startin'
The camera's 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'