Oh Lisbon, how farther should you still be?
Here I am, stuck, with myself in a desert,
Of crumbling etiquette and aristocracy,
Full of theft, gambling and silent murders -
I wait, with transit papers up my sleeve
For, you know, the fundamental things.
They all wait, alongside, unified
Strangers of the world, stripped of pride
The glass fills up with past, as
They drink to hope and distant times;
As propeller blades shine on a crimson sky
Eyes risk the Sun for a Lisbon night.
For those who decide to stay behind
There's but only a gin-joint, and time;
They would never know the African divide
Or for that matter, where dreams reside;
Us, the remnants of Casablanca sands
Hope that you succeed... as we all try.
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