Madrid

You often say that London is gray, but this city is gray too.
When you're knee-deep in the concrete, do you care if skies are blue

In the downtown of the city you're surrounded by hostile stares.
No one cares. You feel silly but you know that no one cares

Loneliness surrounds the walls of the Garden where you can't sleep at all
cause you're dreams scream back at you the obscene truth:
You have sacrificed your youth. What for who?

Dirges at the break of dawn, another sleepless night has gone by.
This town is not for you, no this town is not for you. What for who?

The slow decay that mazes your days turns this house into a tomb.
Blaming sadness on a Sunday every Sunday afternoon

In a church outside the city, rows and rows of empty seats. On your knees,
they won't take you there when you know it's time to leave.

Someday their Lord will take you into his Garden of dark and scented soil,
where the trees grow high above the steel and stone.
And we all lie alone. Alone.