It's on the back of our minds
be we men, angels or vultures,
distances are gone,
it's within anybody's reach
Everyone hopes
even at the back of backyards
Everyone wants his return ticket
of love, of love, of love.
Ones splinter of luck
the kind that burns and overwhelms you
but heavens don't care
since there's not enough for everyone
Emergency rooms are full of people
sitting under lampshade lights
waiting for their return ticket
of love, of love, of love.
These angels dancing
on alcohol-drenched floors
in these boundless caves
their hairs sticking to their shoulders
fly off in silence
and scatter at dawn
looking for return tickets
of love, of love, of love.
These women walking forth
holding in their outstretched arms
these children throwing
stones toward soldiers:
not even a chance
stones against battle helmets
all that for return tickets
of love, of love, of love.
men, angels, vultures...
within anybody's reach...
on everybody's mind...