| The last of some bad debris,
|
| Falls through the coconut trees,
|
| Twilight claims me,
|
| Inching calmly.
|
| Through restaurant radios,
|
| Came a calypso,
|
| Stood with elongo,
|
| Inside a shadow.
|
| Elongo, how long though,
|
| from here to san pedro,
|
| we draw lines in the sand.
|
| Elongo, how long though,
|
| Until we will get back home
|
| The sun is setting low.
|
| Will youth come and go,
|
| Singing the songs they know,
|
| Like Mother Teresa
|
| And Vishnu Siddhartha
|
| And you fly paper planes,
|
| A cow wake is where they lay,
|
| The roots of your family,
|
| The guns of your history.
|
| Eloongo, how longo,
|
| From here to san pedro,
|
| We draw lines in the sand.
|
| Elongo, how long though,
|
| Until we will get back home,
|
| The sun is setting low.
|
| Is it sailing away,
|
| Or am I waiting in vain?
|
| Do you break all your chains,
|
| For it to all wash away.
|
| Elongo, how longo,
|
| From here to San Pedro,
|
| We draw maps in the sand.
|
| Elongo, how long though,
|
| Until we will get back home,
|
| The sun is setting low.
|
| Elongo, how longo,
|
| From here to San Pedro.
|
| Elongo, how longo,
|
| From here to San Pedro
|
| We draw lines in the sands,
|
| We draw lines in the sands. |