| Emilio lives in an attic
|
| Plays a flamenco guitar
|
| Our prayers fall down his window
|
| And roll down flanders of rusted out cars
|
| They harmonize with the sirens
|
| And mix with that racket downstairs
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| They wonder out into the traffic
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| Emilio’s misguided prayers
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| The moon is Emilio’s mistress
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| On her there’s no journeys back
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| Some nights she comes to him naked and cold
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| And some nights she only wears black
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| When the full moon flows from his bottle
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| Somehow there’s always a fight
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| When the moon and the lunatic dance, «senorina»
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| The beautiful music spins into the night and they dance
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| In his dreams he can see the «abuelas»
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| They offer him razors and wine
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| Suspicious Emilio measures
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| The «vino» against the divine
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| But he never has come to believe them
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| Or accepted their Heavenly host
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| So vigous and savage darling
|
| The Saint and the sinner he prays to the most
|
| Emilio lives in an attic
|
| Plays a flamenco guitar
|
| Our prayers fall down his window
|
| And roll down flanders of rusted out cars |