The light of the old prison
cast a shadow of the perfect crime
on the pavements of the south quarter
I want to meet you again
over there near the wall
where graffiti of generation
looked the sky on earth
now I look at these street
cleaned up by the blood of the men of war
while the sirens of work
call for the ghost of class
Only Woody Guthrie's guitar
can follow the rhythm of the night
The chord is a love passion
and my shoes look for the balance road
while the icy east wind curls up
the asphalt of contradictions
and spikes souls like albondigas
I walk alone towards midnight
and I want to heat your icy heart
though I wear my father's trouser
and there's little clearness in my head
In the dark side of the town
cheap murders take place
sleepy losers look for beds of stone
as hard as heart of the beast
In my blood everything's
mixed upwith passion
as in the street of the night
among the lightning of traffic lights
and the painful calls of the "rain dogs"
and the icy-blue of the prison
today any road is military zone
No, we won't be the fathers of our hopes
but I know the future in your eyes
oh I know it well
I know that now and then something
new will spread like a wave
in the edges of the world or in desert
The clouds of the moon
tonight touch my wrist
the liquid flows in the darkness
carryng away all this music
and this need of love goin'on
There's a story we must remember
behind the chats
"about the large epic frescos"
to run along the time and take
the tongues of the outskirts
I need R˜n˜R' threw on the street
the tongues of the outckirts
I need R˜n˜R' for this strange serenade
to join all the passion I meet tonight
I want to see your eyes again
to kiss your hands
your lips
to feel my and your body's shaking
and to tell you:
"Hold on baby
for you
for everybody
the sky gives nothing!
this night is yours
this story is yours!"