Tytuł: Tropicalia

• Wykonawca: Beck
• Wyświetleń: 313

Oh, when they beat upon a broken guitar
  And all the streets, they reek of tropical charms
  The embassies lie in hideous shards
  Where tourists snore and decay
  
  When they dance in a reptile blaze
  You wear a mask, an equatorial haze
  Into the past, a colonial maze
  Where there's no more confetti to throw
  
  You wouldn't know what to say to yourself
  Love is a poverty you couldn't sell
  Misery waits in vague hotels
  To be evicted
  
  You're out of luck, you're singing funeral songs
  To the studs, they're anabolic and bronze
  They seem to strut in their millennial fogs
  'Til they fall down and deflate
  
  You wouldn't know what to say to yourself
  Love is a poverty you couldn't sell
  Misery waits in vague hotels
  To be evicted
  
  Oh, and now, you've had your fun
  Under an air-conditioned sun
  It's burned into your eyes
  Leaves you plain and left behind
  I'll see them rise and fall
  Into the jaws of a pestilent love
  
  You wouldn't know what to say to yourself
  Love is a poverty you couldn't sell
  Misery waits in vague hotels
  To be a victim