|
Madrid |
|
You often say that London is gray, but this city is gray too. |
|
When you're knee-deep in the concrete, do you care if skies are blue... |
|
In the downtown of the city you're surrounded by hostile stares. |
|
No one cares. You feel silly but you know that no one cares |
|
Loneliness surrounds the walls of the Garden where you can't sleep at all |
|
cause you're dreams scream back at you the obscene truth: |
|
You have sacrificed your youth. What for who? |
|
Dirges at the break of dawn, another sleepless night has gone by. |
|
This town is not for you, no this town is not for you. What for who? |
|
The slow decay that mazes your days turns this house into a tomb. |
|
Blaming sadness on a Sunday every Sunday afternoon... |
|
In a church outside the city, rows and rows of empty seats. On your knees, |
|
they won't take you there when you know it's time to leave. |
|
Someday their Lord will take you into his Garden of dark and scented soil, |
|
where the trees grow high above the steel and stone. |
|
And we all lie alone. Alone. |
