Tropicalia

When they beat upon a broken guitar And all the streets they reek of tropical charms The embassies lie in hideous shards Where tourists snore and decay When they dance in a reptile blaze You wear a mask an equatorial haze Into the past a colonial maze Where there’s no more confetti to throw      You wouldn’t know what to say to yourself Love is a poverty you couldn’t sell Misery waits in vague hotels To be evicted You’re out of luck you’re singing funeral songs To the studs they’re anabolic and bronze They seem to strut in their millennial fog Till they fall down and deflate You wouldn’t know what to say to yourself Love is a poverty you couldn’t sell Misery waits in vague hotels To be evicted                  Oh and now you’ve had your fun Under an air-conditioned sun It’s burned into your eyes Leaves you plain and left behind I see them rise and fall Into the jaws of a pestilent love You wouldn’t know what to say to yourself Love is a poverty you couldn’t sell Misery waits in vague hotels To be a victim