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