| In the shadows of tall buildings
|
| Of fallen angels on the ceilings
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| Oily feathers in bronze and concrete
|
| Faded colors, pieces left incomplete
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| The line moves slowly past the electric fence
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| Across the borders between continents
|
| In the cathedrals of New York and Rome
|
| There is a feeling that you should just go home
|
| And spend a lifetime finding out just where that is
|
| In the shadows of tall buildings
|
| The architecture is slowly peeling
|
| Marble statues and glass dividers
|
| Someone is watching all of the outsiders
|
| The line moves slowly through the numbered gate
|
| Past the mosaic of the head of state
|
| In the cathedrals of New York and Rome
|
| There is a feeling that you should just go home
|
| And spend a lifetime finding out just where that is
|
| In the shadows of tall buildings
|
| Of open arches endlessly kneeling
|
| Sonic landscapes, echoing vistas
|
| Someone is listening from a safe distance
|
| The line moves slowly into a fading light
|
| A final moment in the dead of night
|
| In the cathedrals of New York and Rome
|
| There is a feeling that you should just go home
|
| And spend a lifetime finding out just where that is
|
| Ooh, ooh, ooh |