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    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

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