On a dark desert highway
Polluted wind in my hair
Warm smell of gasoline
Rising up through the air
Up ahead in the distance
I saw a shimmering traffic
My head grew heavy, and my sight grew dim
I had to stop outright
There he stood blocking the road
I heard the local Basiji shout
And I was thinking to myself
This can not be Heaven then for sure it is Hell
Then he flashed up his Bulgarian Kalashnikov
And he showed me the way
There were voices down the corridor
I thought I heard them say…
Welcome to the Hotel Ahmadinejad
Such a lovely place
Such a lovely face
Plenty of room at the Hotel Ahmadinejad
Any time of year
You can find it here
You can find it here
His mind is rather twisted
He says he will get the rich men bend
He's got a lot of pretty, pretty basijis
That he calls friends
How they march in the courtyard
Sweet summer cholera
Some beat their chest to remember
Some beat to forget
So I called up Mr. Khatami
Please forgive me sir – we miss you already…
He said
“We haven't had that spirit here since 1377 [1998]”
And so I switch to Radio Farda
In the middle of the night
Just to hear them say…
Welcome to the Hotel Ahmadinejad
Such a lovely Place
Such a lovely face
They're livin' it up at the Hotel Ahmadinejad
What a nice election surprise
What a nice surprise
Bring your alibies
Mirrors on the ceiling
Pink Zamzam on ice
And he said
“We are all just servants here
Of other peoples device”
And in Agha-Zadeh Mojtaba's chamber
They gathered for the feast
They stab it with their steely knives
But they just can't close the deal
Last thing I remember
I was running for Mehrabad
I had to find the passage back to the place I was before
“Relax,” said the Ansar Basiji
“We are all servants of the Hidden Imam
You can check out any time you like
But you can never leave…”
Aside from the eternal Eagles, all the credit goes to people of Iran, who are living and working under the shadow of going nuclear with shabby Russian technology, dying of cholera, or getting liberated by Bush and the sweet Neo-Cons in the summer of 2005.
