Part I

Fire, fire, here comes the dawn.

It’s a riot, a revolution, a revelation;

a natural phenomenon. 

East L.A. walked out, Chicanos walk on,

our history splashed in murals on walls.

Fire, fire, here comes the dawn. 

The Watts towers look down upon

a medley of faces, of races, all from different places.

A natural phenomenon. 

“Black Lives Matter!” is part of our lexicon,

Rodney King to George Floyd, we say their names.

Fire, fire, here comes the dawn. 

Repatriate us but we’re not gone,

we’re as ingrained in this soil as the palm trees are;

a natural phenomenon.

We’re Angelinos with roots so long

they traverse oceans, deserts, and borders.

Fire, fire, here comes the dawn,

a natural phenomenon.

Part II

Beneath bright blue skies and amidst an ocean breeze,

are palm trees shaped like stars, like fireworks;

the tourists love what they’ve seen on screens. 

From Black folks, to Latinos, to the Japanese,

we sing with tongues that have tasted oppression

beneath bright blue skies and amidst an ocean breeze. 

Those who’ve fallen, the city keeps on their knees,

and sweeps them down to Skid Row.

The tourists love what they’ve seen on screens. 

Listen to the Hollywood sign tell you what it’s seen.

The Walk of Fame has felt worn out shoes and tired feet

beneath bright blue skies and amidst an ocean breeze. 

Bang! Bang! somewhere down the street. 

Is it a brawl or a baile; a fight or a fiesta? 

The tourists love what they’ve seen on screens. 

Between desserts, mountains, and the sea,

the world’s a stage, L.A. takes center,

beneath bright blue skies and amidst an ocean breeze. 

The tourists love what they’ve seen on screens. 

Part III

Someone sweeps the skies at night, 

and scatters the stars out on earth to dry. 

Within the dark, L.A. shines bright. 

City of dreams some might call this site,

because dreams slip through the hands of passersby.

Someone sweeps the skies at night.

Migrants march in, fleeing their plights.

¡Que viva la raza! ¡Que viva!

Within the dark, L.A. shines bright.

Palm trees sway with rapt delight,

over hundreds of souls, all hollow and hungry-eyed. 

Someone sweeps the skies at night.

City of darkness, city of light;

too big to fit on silver screens, too gritty, too alive. 

Within the dark, L.A. shines bright.

“I wish I may, I wish I might…”

The wish goes unheard, as billions of others wish at the same time.

Someone sweeps the skies at night.

Within the dark, L.A. shines bright.