Somewhere high in the desert near a curtain of blue
Saint Ann's skirts are billowing
But down here in the city of limelights
The fans of Santa Ana are withering

And you can't deny the living is easy
If you never look behind the scenery
It's showtime for dry climes
And Bedlam is dreaming of rain

When the hills of Los Angeles are burning
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 burning

This is not a test
Of the emergency broadcast system
When Malibu fires and radio towers
Conspire to dance again

And I cannot believe the media Mecca
They're only trying to peddle reality, catch it on
Primetime, story at nine
The whole world is going insane

When the hills of Los Angeles are burning
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 burning

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 starting
The camera's running
So take warning

When the hills of Los Angeles are burning
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 burning