Hand me my five and dime, pass me my shirt hung on the line. I`ll polish up my boots and then take the first plane stateside I can find. It`s a handicap to try to see this far, when this place seems so cramped and small. In the streets they whisper legends and it seems that I`m riding for a fall. I`m leaving, I`m leaving. All of my sense is shot, the streets are like a premonition of a crime. I wrote without you, then I took the first plane stateside I could find. If they could they would`ve stopped me, they`d say I`m gaping at a dream. I`m leaving, I`m leaving. So I polish up my brand new car, then take my tunes from door to door. I try not to see their faces as I`m dealing out my aces, the horizon seems so far away. From a penthouse for a king and queen I expected more of the stuff of dreams. If they can they like to get their man and cut him right down to his knees. And I`m reeling, once again I`m leaving. I`m leaving and once again I`m leaving. And I`m leaving, once again I`m leaving. --->> Enrique Morano emorano@hotmail.com <<---
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