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In the shadows of tall buildings |
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Of fallen angels on the ceilings |
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Oily feathers in bronze and concrete |
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Faded colors, pieces left incomplete |
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The line moves slowly past the electric fence |
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Across the borders between continents |
|
In the cathedrals of New York and Rome |
|
There is a feeling that you should just go home |
|
And spend a lifetime finding out just where that is |
|
In the shadows of tall buildings |
|
The architecture is slowly peeling |
|
Marble statues and glass dividers |
|
Someone is watching all of the outsiders |
|
The line moves slowly through the numbered gate |
|
Past the mosaic of the head of state |
|
In the cathedrals of New York and Rome |
|
There is a feeling that you should just go home |
|
And spend a lifetime finding out just where that is |
|
In the shadows of tall buildings |
|
Of open arches endlessly kneeling |
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Sonic landscapes echoing vistas |
|
Someone is listening from a safe distance |
|
The line moves slowly into a fading light |
|
A final moment in the dead of night |
|
In the cathedrals of New York and Rome |
|
There is a feeling that you should just go home |
|
And spend a lifetime finding out just where that is |
|
In the cathedrals of New York and Rome |
|
There is a feeling that you should just go home |
|
And spend a lifetime finding out just where that is |
