At The Parallel

He stands by the doors of the Rex all night
 Chain-smoking Celtas
 His eyes trouble more than one woman
 His voice is heavy and deep
 There's dirt on the sidewalk
 And the newsboy yell
 Nothing ever changes at the Parallel
 Nothing ever changes at the Parallel
 There 's a girl at the Molino
 She wears a leather coat
 The dust of Barcelona
 Sticks to her heals as she walks
 Trough the door
 And he thinks: "What the hell
 Does she come here for?
 Maybe she wants me, and that's
 Her way to say it?
 Maybe she wants me, and that's
 Her way to say it?
 Maybe she wants me, but who am I to tell?
 He bites his fingernails
 Scratches his eyebrows
 Lights another cigarette
 Watching the queens of the street
 Acting their parody of love
 And he feels like he stands by the gates of hell
 Nothing ever changes at the Parallel
 Nothing ever changes at the Parallel
 That girl from the Molino
 Who wears the leather coat
 Sits there rockin' slowly on a chair
 Gazing dreamly at the door
 And he thinks: "What the hell
 Is she looking for?
 Maybe she wants me, and that's
 Her way to say it?
 Maybe she wants me, and that's
 Her way to say it?
 Maybe she wants me, but who am I to tell?"