We love you, so we say: notwithstanding what you do, or what you don't, the gnarled pendulum of time goes by and by behind your eyes of velvet...
As the cumulum of the years goes by, your features and rictus go changing babe: your eyes have lost some of their shining, and they go watching beyond:did you see that all the telephones sounded out loud in the room at once for people with teeth of paper, babe?
Telephones of the summer of 1966 and we love you...
Once my father told me that in the Spain of Franco, in the Spain of the Spanish Sahara; all the radio-transistors transmitted the same old and faded solar march of a brown summer of 1966 for faces in the Sun and brand new white shirts.
And for the new yellow kingdom of Spain
and brand new we love you's
and we love you babe:
the king is at the threshold and we love you
the servants are all dead and we love you
the black clouds are arriving and we love you
the princess eschews the prince and we love you
the people deem you're mad but we love you
the aftermath's farfetched and we luv you
the tune goes getting darker but we love ya
the palace is in darkness and we love you
the juggler is a one-liner and we love you
the eyes of the jester look sinister and we love you
and hence we are here babe 'cause we love you
And as it was said during the wooden days in the Spanish Sahara, the brown-gold days of 1966.
Like fucking Epiphones of destiny or Europe
Europe
Europe
Europe
Europe
Europe?
just walking on the combed sands
of only another desert of the Empire.
.
