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Emilio lives in an attic |
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Plays a flamenco guitar |
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Our prayers fall down his window |
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And roll down flanders of rusted out cars |
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They harmonize with the sirens |
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And mix with that racket downstairs |
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They wonder out into the traffic |
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Emilio's misguided prayers |
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The moon is |
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Emilio's mistress |
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On her there's no journeys back |
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Some nights she comes to him naked and cold |
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And some nights she only wears black |
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When the full moon flows from his bottle |
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Somehow there's always a fight |
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When the moon and the lunatic dance, "senorina" |
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The beautiful music spins into the night and they dance |
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In his dreams he can see the "abuelas" |
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They offer him razors and wine |
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Suspicious |
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Emilio measures |
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The "vino" against the divine |
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But he never has come to believe them |
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Or accepted their |
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Heavenly host |
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So vigous and savage darling |
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The Saint and the sinner he prays to the most |
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Emilio lives in an attic |
|
Plays a flamenco guitar |
|
Our prayers fall down his window |
|
And roll down flanders of rusted out cars |
