The city

The city
Oh the city with its rubbishly old buses
The dismal bars of the suburban slums
Its banks of blood-sucking moneylenders
The city is the whorehouse of the capital
Some people just don't know what they are living for
With no idea of being they have lost the way
For example the don't know if they are dead or living
If life is a dream or if they dream when they're awake

Oh the city with its rubbishly old buses
The dismal bars of the suburban slums
It's sad, unreal and gloomy neighbourhood
The city is the whorehouse of the capital
Men don't really know who they are anymore
They're blind to surprise asleep to love
Their hectic 'no thingness' is completely crazy
And a heart attack is their: good morning sun
Oh the city with its rubbishly old buses
The dismal bars of the suburban slums
It's sad, unreal and gloomy neighbourhoods
The city is the whorehouse of the capital