The act of love . . . is a confession. Selfishness screams aloud, vanity shows off, or else true generosity reveals itself.
Albert Camus
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Ruin
I’ve seen gypsies who made it all the way
And kept going, kept rolling with nowhere to go
Nowhere to go.
As far as I’ve seen from the bush
The wilderness, to every known city
I’ve been to … color cut
So where to? Mozambique, Istanbul, or Rome
Argentina, Chile, Mexico, Taiwan, Great Britain
Belfast, to the desert, Spain
Some little bitty island in the middle of the Pacific
All the way back home, into my town
Into my town
Bitching, complaining from some ṗeople who ain’t got shit to do
Bitching, moment, so many people you know they got
What are we doing?
We’re sitting on a ruin
What are we doing?
We’re sitting on a ruin
As far as I’ve seen, from the bush
The wilderness, to every known city
I’ve been to Saudi Arabia, dug up Calcutta
So where to? Mozambique, Istanbul, or Rome
Argentina, Chile, Mexico, Taiwan, Great Britain
Belfast, to the desert, Spain
Some little bitty island in the middle of the Ṗacific
All the way back home, to my town
To my town
Bitching, complaining from some people who ain’t got shit to eat
Bitching, moment, so many people you know they got
What are we doing?
We’re sitting on a ruin
What are we doing?
We’re sitting on a ruin
What are we doing?
We’re sitting on a ruin
What are we doing?
We’re sitting on a ruin