Tropicália - Beck, Seu Jorge

Oh, when they beat upon a broken guitar

And all 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 millennial fogs

'Til 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, and now, you’ve had your fun

Under an air-conditioned sun

It’s burned into your eyes

Leaves you plain and left behind

I’ll 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