| Outside the dogs are withered and hungry
|
| And the soldiers are laughing out loud
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| They wave bottles and blow out the candles
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| Of the lonely who move in a crowd
|
| And the storm clouds hide the volcanoes
|
| But they shall never find me here
|
| Where I torture myself with the memories
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| That stay clear through tequila and beer
|
| That’s the parent and the peasant
|
| That’s the singer and his mourning guitar
|
| Through the black hallways choked with smoke
|
| To find the back room of the bar
|
| I couldn’t forgive you for letting the Frenchman
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| Though I know that I made you Yvonne
|
| You say I drove you away with my drinking
|
| But it’s gotten much worse since you’ve gone
|
| I lost the hundreds of letters you sent me
|
| I never acknowledged recieving a one
|
| And now I drink to death on this day of the dead
|
| And only wish it could be quickly done
|
| That’s the parent and the peasant
|
| That’s the singer and his mourning guitar
|
| Through the black hallways choked with smoke
|
| To find the back room of the bar
|
| And now I’m out of my mind with the Mezcal
|
| I couldn’t change when you finally returned
|
| You say I taught you that love could be holy
|
| But that’s something I still haven’t learned
|
| And the questions that keep me surrounded
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| By despair from the morning 'til night
|
| I have no answers to keep me from drowning
|
| There’s no answers to make it alright
|
| That’s the parent and the peasant
|
| That’s the singer and his mourning guitar
|
| Through the black hallways choked with smoke
|
| To find the back room of the bar
|
| La la la la la la la la la
|
| La la la la la la la la la |