Tropicalia

by Beck

Oh when they beat
Upon a broken guitar
And on 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 fogs
Till they fall down and deflate

Oh 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 eyes 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

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