Like someone traveling on the back of a shadowy mare
Through the city I walk, don't ask where
Perhaps I seek an encounter that will brighten my day
And I find nothing but doors that deny what they hide

The chimneys spew their vomit of smoke
To a sky increasingly distant and higher
Along the ochre walls spills the juice
Of a blood fruit grown in the asphalt

The countryside must be green by now, it must be spring
An endless train crosses my gaze
The neighborhood where I live is no meadow
Desolate landscape of antennas and cables

I live at number seven, Melancholy Street
I've wanted to move for years to the neighborhood of joy
But every time I try, the tram has already left
On the stairs, I sit to whistle my melody

Like someone traveling on a mad ship
That comes from the night and goes nowhere
So my feet descend the slope of oblivion
Weary from so much walking without finding you

Then, back home, I light a cigarette
I organize my papers, solve a crossword puzzle
I get angry with the shadows that fill the hallways
And I embrace the absence you leave in my bed

I climb your memory like a vine
That finds no windows to cling to, I am
That absurd epidemic that sidewalks suffer
If you want to find me, you know where I am

I live at number seven, Melancholy Street
I've wanted to move for years to the neighborhood of joy
But every time I try, the tram has already left
On the stairs, I sit to whistle my melody

I live at number seven, Melancholy Street
I've wanted to move for years to the neighborhood of joy
But every time I try, the tram has already left
On the stairs, I sit to whistle my melody

I live at number seven, Melancholy Street

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