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The sun was going down behind the tattoo tree |
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And the simple act of an oar's stroke put diamonds in the sea |
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And all because of the phosphorus there in quantity |
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As I dug you digging me in Mexico |
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There in the Valley of Scorpio, beneath the cross of jade |
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Smoking on the seashell pipe the gypsies had made |
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We sat and we dreamed awhile of smugglers bringing wine |
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That crystal-thought time in Mexico |
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Sitting in a chair of bamboo, sipping grenadine |
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Straining my eyes for a surfacing submarine |
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Kingdoms of ants walk across my feet |
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I'm a-shaking in my seat in Mexico |
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Grasshoppers creaking in the velvet jungle night |
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Microscopic circles in the fluid of my sight |
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Watching a black-eyed native girl cut and trim the lamp |
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Valentino vamp in Mexico |
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The sun was going down behind the tattoo tree |
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And the simple act of an oar's stroke put diamonds in the sea |
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And all because of the phosphorus there in quantity |
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I dug you digging me in Mexico |
