Letra de Carthagio Est Delenda - Million Dead

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 the concrete furrows.
My anger is Vesuvius casting its shadow.
I spent too long walking across bridges failing
to appreciate the sweating river's flow escaping,
leaving the city streets tinderbox-dry and oh-so-tempting.
My fatigue is San Andreas shuddering slow.
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,
https://www.coveralia.com/letras/carthagio-est-delenda-million-dead.php
Carthago Est Delenda,
and the pavements are beaches once more.
But in the morning when my 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,
away from dirt,
away from crowds,
and 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 flows outside the city.