Son Cuatro Días
El Ultimo De La Fila
It's Been Four Days
The city sleeps and in a dark place by the sea
a jazz musician is playing.
You look at me and in your tired eyes I can see
there's a woman's name written.
From his guitar come notes of fire;
the crystal chords, towards eternity.
Old love songs, old poems.
Between smoke and alcohol, the night sounds like jazz.
The city sleeps and a black girl enters the bar.
She seems drunk - let's see who isn't.
She shouts that white people smell bad.
Light years of loneliness. Remember me when I'm gone.
The sea kisses the gray sand and in the city the night sings.
It's been four days. The night sings.
Sitting in a corner watching two cats frolic.
Sad sight to be king of creation,
while a jazz musician plays.
From his guitar come notes of fire;
the crystal chords, towards eternity.
Old love songs, old poems.
Between smoke and alcohol, the night sounds like jazz.
Light years of loneliness. Remember me when I'm gone.
The sea kisses the gray sand and in the city the night sings.
It's been four days. The night sings...
