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Tropicalia - text

When they beat upon a broken guitar
And on the streets, they reek of tropical charms
The embassies lie in hideous shards
Where tourists snore and decay

When they dance in a reptile blaze
You wear a mask, an equatorial haze
Into the past, a colonial maze
Where there's no more confetti to throw
You wouldn't know what to say to yourself
Love is a poverty you couldn't sell
Misery waits in vague hotels to be evicted

You're out of luck, you're singing funeral songs
To the studs, they're anabolic and bronze
They seem to strut in their millenial fogs
Until they fall down and deflate
You wouldn't know what to say to yourself
Love is a poverty you couldn't sell
Misery waits in vague hotels to be evicted

Oh now you've had your fun under an air-conditioned sun
It's burned into your eyes, leaves you plain and left behind
I see them rise and fall into the jaws of a pestilent love
You wouldn't know what to say to yourself
Love is a poverty you couldn't sell
Misery waits in vague hotels to be a victim

Text přidala -GABA-

Text opravil PsychoKiller

Videa přidali PsychoKiller, DomkaHoon

Zajímavosti o písni

  • Tropicália je brazilské umělecké hnutí, které má své počátky v 60. letech 20. století. Je charakterizováno jako kombinace avangardy s prvky brazilské kultury a rovněž vlivů kultur zahraničních. Beck prostřednictvím této písně vzdává hold významné brazilské skupině Os Mutantes. (PsychoKiller)
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