| High on the street along the avenue
|
| Sunday love can take this afternoon
|
| Taste a little corona below this way
|
| There are birds whistling a graceful tune
|
| It reminds me of Madrid
|
| I can still see the daylight pouring in
|
| And I cannot breathe till I see it again
|
| It reminds me of Madrid
|
| I can still see the daylight pouring in
|
| And I cannot wait till I see it again
|
| Wistfully something I could dive into
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| Lazy as the river rose in June
|
| Take a little drink, a little cigarette
|
| Breathing back the smoke, the air, the fume
|
| It reminds me of Madrid
|
| I can still see the daylight pouring in
|
| And I cannot breathe till I see it again
|
| It reminds me of Madrid
|
| Blowing bubbles, they’re bursting on my skin
|
| And I cannot wait till I’m feeling my hand
|
| I remember swimming pool
|
| Melting ice and cold (?)
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| Sangria in hotel rooms
|
| I recall
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| I remember mountain trains
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| Endless nights and drowsy days
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| Always spent but never stayed
|
| I recall
|
| It reminds me of Madrid
|
| I can still see the daylight pouring in
|
| And I cannot breathe till I see it again
|
| It reminds me of Madrid
|
| Blowing bubbles, they’re bursting on my skin
|
| And I cannot wait till I feel them again |