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Like someone traveling on the back of a gloomy mare
I walk through the city, don't ask where
Am I looking for an encounter that will brighten my day?
And I find nothing but doors that deny what they hide
The chimneys pour out their beautiful smoke
To a sky that is ever more distant and higher
The juice spills down the ochre walls
From a blood fruit grown on the asphalt
The field will already be green, it must be spring
A never-ending train crosses my gaze
The neighborhood where I live is not a meadow.
Desolate landscape of antennas and cables
I live at number seven, Melancholy Street
I've wanted to move to the neighborhood of joy for years.
But every time I try, the tram has already left.
On the stairs I sit and whistle my melody
Like someone traveling aboard a crazy ship
That comes from the night and goes nowhere
Thus my feet descend the slope of oblivion
Tired of walking so much without finding you
Back home again I light a cigarette
I sort my papers, I solve a crossword puzzle
I get angry at the shadows that haunt the hallways
And I embrace the absence you leave in my bed
I climb your memories like a vine
That does not find windows to hold on to, I am
That absurd epidemic that sidewalks suffer from
If you want to find me, you know where I am.
I live at number seven, Melancholy Street
I want to move to the neighborhood of joy years ago.
But every time I try, the tram has already left.
On the stairs I sit and whistle my melody
I live at number seven, Melancholy Street
I want to move to the neighborhood of joy years ago.
But every time I try, the tram has already left.
On the stairs I sit and whistle my melody
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