On the bottom of a glass
I will find a thought for yesterday
And it will have the bittersweet taste
of a Summer from a hundred years ago
Of a little pub that will never reopen
And a photo in a drawer
Damn pride, making us feel alone among ourselves
Nostalgia, you scoundrel, I know how you work
You'll come looking for me, you'll force me
To one more day, to wait one more day
And no,
No, we no longer believe in fairy tales
No, we no longer bite on strawberries
No, we can't see the stars
From this fucking city
Is it better to fight or to sleep on it,
To try to exist or to resist
Tell me, what difference does it make
Do you know what difference does it make
A witch's eyes, of a color without words
And a song pumping from the stereo of a car going by
Stray dogs on the road,
Prisoners of a bitter life,
Going around until morning
Eyes red, 6 a.m dreams
Nostalgia, you scoundrel, I know how you work
You'll come looking for me, you'll force me
To one more day, to wait one more day
And no,
No, we no longer believe in fairy tales
No, we no longer bite on strawberries
No, we can't see the stars
From this fucking city
Is it better to fight or to sleep on it,
To try to exist or to resist
Tell me, what difference does it make
Do you know what difference does it make
No,
No, we no longer believe in fairy tales
No, we no longer bite on strawberries
No, we can't see the stars
From this fucking city
Is it better to fight or to sleep on it,
To try to exist or to resist
Tell me, what difference does it make
You know what difference it makes.