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?"