st. john (st. jean)

the bousbir of casablanca. the casbah of algiers. even the barrio chino of barcelona, could only boast of second place, next to you. the harbour of the world, the secrets of a girl, the labours of a friend, a place to live the dream, to musical machines, never seen again. saint john, your temples are broken, saint john, your sacraments are unspoken, saint john, your congregation has gone, but your testament lives on, saint john, so they cleaned you up, they tried to break your soul, they took away your heart, in that winter cold - and now, you're just a memory of a broken home, from a history book, to a field of ashes and stone. to build upon your grave, a place without a face, a place without a heart, but once, you sold your dreams, to musical machines, never seen again. saint john, your temples are broken, saint john, your sacraments are unspoken, saint john, your congregation has gone, but your testament lives on, saint john, les piano mecaniques, jouent pour les marins, dans le port de marseille, dans les bars a putains*, like a thousand souls of young lost girls, disappearing like star-dust, into the clouds, on this - the final journey, never to be seen again. saint john, your temples are broken, saint john, your sacraments are unspoken, saint john, your congregation has gone, but your testament lives on, saint john,