To Carthage then I came As a young boy lost in the promise of The steady beating heart Of the metropolis.
But I spent so long beneath The dim street lighting that I strained my eyes and Lost the finesse of my fine hand-writing.
It's not like I need it these days My letters home have been getting shorter. I can't concentrate if I can't secure a source of clean water.
But there's never a drop to drink In these concrete furrows. My anger is Vesuvius casting its shadow.
I spent so long walking across bridges, Failing to appreciate The sweating rivers flow escaping. Leaving the city streets Tinderbox-dry and its oh-so-tempting. My fatigue is San Andreas Shuddering slow.
I mark my lintel with bloodstains And dream of suburbs up in flames.
Every evening when I arrive Back at home And finally lock my front door, Carthagio Est Delenda, And the pavements are Beaches once more.
The alarm wakes me, The concrete is back in its place. As I trudge through the streets At the break of day. It's the river that calls me away.
The river flows outside of town, If I could follow it to the sea I'd wash the sweat right off of me. So break my legs and weigh me down, Throw me in, but I won't drown I'll float away, go down the stream. The river leads outside the city.