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Robert Wyatt
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A Sunday In Madrid
Lyricist:Elfreida Benge Ellidge, Robert Wyatt Ellidge
Pa arrives in the city of the closed doors Greeted by miners from Asturias His limousine streaks past
Giant shiny moneyboxes Huddled together for warmth He is deposited in his inner chamber
Later, Pa meets the bear, impersonates a tree To confuse the hell's gates dog's sense of smell And rests for chess with no one then (Amongst the closed doors) He shrinks
Is dwarfed by rabbits, expands again To invade the destiny of fourteen Mysterious others, strangely clad Captured by a camera, carefully arranged With a space for his image, a plot hatched by fate
Pa looks for diversion in the written word Meanwhile, the mundane world seeks solace in illusion An imprisoned rainbow gives shelter to the homeless A painted machine registers the weight of mystery
And for background interest a kilometer of women Queue to kiss a wooden foot, patiently Find more lyrics at ※ Mojim.com The Queen had been but no information In the city of the closed doors on Christian Spain
Elsewhere, bare buttocks wait their turn In vain, no guides available, all busy in the Prado Followed by shuffling feet, fascinated perhaps
Outside again in the mundane world In the city of the closed doors Living men impersonate sleeping saints On sundry raised surfaces (Like benches)
Art objects seat beadless (Beneath coats) Performance artists simulate poverty and beg A day's begging pays the entrance fee
To the cinema of terror, a golden gas mask Throw the torturers off the trail, amongst The grazed walls of the city of the closed doors
Pa escapes Samples the delights of raw fish, good wine Closes the door of his inner chamber Closes the door of his inner chamber and sleeps
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