Mirrors on the ceiling. The pink champagne on ice. And she said, "We are all just prisoners here, of our own device." And in the master's chambers, they gathered for the feast. They stab it with their steely knives, but they just can't kill the beast.

On a dark desert highway, the warm wind was in my hair. The smell of colitas rose up through the air. In the distance, I saw a shimmering light. My head grew heavy and my sight grew dim. I had to stop for the night.

Last thing I remember, I was running for the door. I had to find the passage back to the place I was before. "Relax," said the night man, "We are programmed to receive. You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave."

Her mind is Tiffany-twisted. She got the Mercedes bends. She got a lot of pretty, pretty boys she calls friends. How they dance in the courtyard, sweet summer sweat. Some dance to remember, some dance to forget.

"Welcome to the Hotel California. Such a lovely place. Such a lovely face. They livin' it up at the Hotel California. What a nice surprise. Bring your alibis."

She stood in the doorway. I heard the mission bell. And I was thinking to myself, "This could be Heaven or this could be Hell." Then she lit up a candle and she showed me the way. There were voices down the corridor. I thought I heard them say: