Hotel Bellagio

Down a quiet Vegas highway, night wind in my Hair. Warm scent of the sagebrush floating everywhere. Far away in the darkness, saw a flashing sign. My eyes grew tired and my mind was slow. I pulled up to the line. There she stood near the entrance, Under velvet skies. And I heard the golden fountain song starting To arise. Dressed in silk Balenciaga, key to her Porsche GT. Surrounded by the shadows of the high society. In the courtyard they're moving, Ooh, under crystal light. Some are dancing to hold the past, Some to hide the night. So I asked at the counter, ooh, "Bring a glass of red." He said, "We haven't poured that vintage here since The '90s died." And those distant voices echo through the hall. Calling from the shadows, hear them as they Call. Welcome to the Hotel Bellagio. Such a magic sight. Such a magic sight. Shining in the night. Endless room at the Hotel Bellagio. Ooh. Living for the thrill. Living for the thrill. Pay the silver bill. Crowned with diamonds from Cartier, Tiffany on her wrist. Sipping ice-cold Dom Pérignon in the morning Mist. Glass walls on the ceiling, ooh, Golden cages glow. She said, "We are bound by velvet chains in This digital show." And inside the grand chamber, ooh, Gathering for the game. They try to cut the illusion down, But it stays the same. Last thing I remember, Running down the floor. Searching for the secret door to clear the score. "Don't worry," said the concierge, Ooh, "We are built to stay. You can pay your tab whenever you want, But you'll never walk away." Welcome to the Hotel Bellagio. Such a magic sight. Such a magic sight. Shining in the night. They're living it up at the Hotel Bellagio. Ooh. Every single dream. Every single dream. Is never what it seems. Down a quiet Vegas highway, night wind in my Hair. Warm scent of the sagebrush floating everywhere. Far away in the darkness, saw a flashing sign. My eyes grew tired and my mind was slow. I pulled up to the line. There she stood near the entrance, Under velvet skies. And I heard the golden fountain song starting to Arise. Dressed in silk Balenciaga, key to her Porsche GT. Surrounded by the shadows of the high society. In the courtyard they're moving Under crystal light. Some are dancing to hold the past, Some to hide the night. So I asked at the counter, "Bring Glass of red." He said, "We haven't poured that vintage here since The '90s died." And those distant voices echo through the hall. Calling from the shadows, hear them as they Call. Welcome to the Hotel-