Oh, when they beat upon a broken guitar And all the streets, they reek of tropical charms The embassies lie in hideous shards Where tourists snore and decay
When they dance in a reptile blaze You wear a mask, an equatorial haze Into the past, a colonial maze Where there's no more confetti to throw
You wouldn't know what to say to yourself Love is a poverty you couldn't sell Misery waits in vague hotels To be evicted
You're out of luck, you're singing funeral songs To the studs, they're anabolic and bronze They seem to strut in their millennial fogs 'Til they fall down and deflate
[Beck, Tropicalia lyrics and video on http://crocmusic.com/]
You wouldn't know what to say to yourself Love is a poverty you couldn't sell Misery waits in vague hotels To be evicted
Oh, and now, you've had your fun Under an air-conditioned sun It's burned into your eyes Leaves you plain and left behind I'll see them rise and fall Into the jaws of a pestilent love
You wouldn't know what to say to yourself Love is a poverty you couldn't sell Misery waits in vague hotels To be a victim
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