lyrics
Lights flashing as the grit was flown.
Behind a Packard, the desert sun had grown.
Marie shot-gun, bombshell in a boa,
reading up on Vogue, sipping on sangria.
A weekend stop in a Spanish villa.
The lights burned, the lamp was crimson.
A lonely ghost in an earthly prison.
The pistol at his hip, long rusted.
His bootstraps long turned to sand and dust
and he lies and waits for the girl he's lusted.
(CHORUS)
He's lonely in the catacombs.
She says those nightmares, soaked with sweat and alone, don't mean a thing.
Why's she soaked to the bone?
Come on, Maria. Until the hounds of hell are at your door,
he'll wait for you because he's lonely in the catacombs.
Magazines strewn across the table.
The world outside, a field of sable.
Her mind, a mess, and thoughts did clamor for safety in the latest Glamour.
But now's the time, and not for manners.
The grayed hand of the last bandito,
belonged once, a man named Carlito.
He paid the wind with spurs of silver to find his love and to kindly rid her
of what her love could only give her.
(CHORUS)
But if her love was to be won, what way is this?
A man who knows her heart as I, I'm sure she'll miss.
The places she made her way from, the cities I could never know.
A man he learns of love and still, he let's her go.
(CHORUS)
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