Como La Lluvia En Buenos Aires

When the cards are stacked against you
and the gods do their own thing
when the moon's a neon sign
when silence corners you
and they mortgage your pride,
when twilight slaps you in the face,
when the streets pile up
when dreams wither away
when the phone forgets to ring
when drugs let you down
when blood runs hot
when bars collect loneliness.

And too few times does life deserve
a song
and too many dawns break
with a cloudy heart
and too many nights I spend
sleeping alone under the stars
under the clock at the door of the sun
with a cold from hell
asking autumn
who gave it that name of a season.

When the blades get sharpened
when the mirrors conspire
when the clock's hands go crazy
when the decks get shuffled
when kids are born old
when flesh tastes like cannon fodder
when angels blaspheme
when the cards come in late
when dawn is a new disappointment
when kisses poison
or when it rains in Buenos Aires
when the sun sets in the imagination

And too few times does life deserve ...