Thousand Maps - Tango | Текст песни

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• Thousand Maps
• Tango

The little that we know of him is whispered through the halls
He has all sorts in formaldehyde and a rifle on the wall
They post his correspondence in the cracks beneath the door
He creeps out in the night with dogs the size of a horse

We’re counting all the voices and the footsteps on the floor
The twitching of the curtains and the twisting of the locks
The shaking of the floorboards, the radio goes loud
It creeps up in the morning, and by night it starts to pound

He plays a form of trumpet made from old parts of a pram
And likes his lovers like his whisky and he drinks for 15 men
They say he taught the tango or even tried his hand
At a language close to Spanish from some crazy, far off land

We’re pressed against the wallpaper tracing every noise
The shifting of the furniture, the patterns of his voice
The shaking of the floorboards, the radio goes loud
It creeps up in the morning, and by night it starts to pound


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