My city is not the city of angels
Mother of a thousand kings
people don't walk on ivory pavements
but cavil on shady narrow streets
And sometimes when I walk through her alleys
stepping aeons beneath me feet
I feel the sun stops moving in orbit
and makes his way back to the East
My city is not the city of angels
but mother of all refugees
you may not be a saint or believer
her heaven holds a place for thee
And in hard times with irrepressible problems
we're drinking coffee by the sea
Yet I'm feeling fine trying to live in this city
that eats her babies makes me nervous
these monuments do not look so pretty
a sole survivor among others
living on my own
and I feel obliged to compromise with
concrete life that's left to rule my world
Mother of a thousand kings
people don't walk on ivory pavements
but cavil on shady narrow streets
And sometimes when I walk through her alleys
stepping aeons beneath me feet
I feel the sun stops moving in orbit
and makes his way back to the East
My city is not the city of angels
but mother of all refugees
you may not be a saint or believer
her heaven holds a place for thee
And in hard times with irrepressible problems
we're drinking coffee by the sea
Yet I'm feeling fine trying to live in this city
that eats her babies makes me nervous
these monuments do not look so pretty
a sole survivor among others
living on my own
and I feel obliged to compromise with
concrete life that's left to rule my world
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