| Somewhere below the grand hotel
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| There is a tunnel that leads down to hell
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| Take the dumbwaiter, the laundry chute
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| Then sneak through the hall past the boys shining boots
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| Then left at the courtyard through the old garden
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| Where all the bellhops smoke with the guards
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| And then you run to the old lake house
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| Down to the old lake house
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| Run to the old lake house where it begins
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| Under the floorboards there's a deep well
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| That leads to a spring that sprung up in hell
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| That's where old devils danced and kissed
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| And made their blood pacts in the ancient myths
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| And running through forest they screamed in chorus
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| While piercing fair maiden's chests with their horns
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| And then they lay in the grass 'til the dawn came
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| Sleeping away 'til the dawn came
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| Lay in the grass where now stands the grand hotel
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| The Maître D' and a fancy chef
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| Silver's real, the liquor's top shelf
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| Play some tennis, swim in a pool
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| Stroll the garden shady and cool
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| You won't care that the devils
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| Won't mind that the devils
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| Won't know that the devils are near
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| Somewhere below the grand hotel
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| There is a tunnel that leads straight to hell
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| But no one comes up for the souls anymore
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| They come for some comfort and for the dance floor
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| And hiding sharp horns under fedoras
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| Do not disturb signs instead of a chorus
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| They toss and turn 'til the dawn comes
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| On soft sheets 'til the dawn comes
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| No one sleeps at the grand hotel
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| Room service, mini-bar
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| Scented soaps, chauffeured cars
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| Stay a day, stay a week
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| Here's the tunnel, take a peek
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| Just call up your friends at the front desk
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| Any hour at the front desk
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| Call up your friends at the grand hotel
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| You'll always have friends at the grand hotel |