Paroles de la chanson Drinking in Gomorrah par Transglobal Underground

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Paroles de la chanson Drinking in Gomorrah par Transglobal Underground

My name is Alex?, and I run a small bar in the Zamalek
district of Cairo. I work long hours, keep the place tidy,
keep a good order, keep a good reputation with the police.
Been here 6 years, but I wouldn’t say I’m settled, I
just live here. I’m 36, I’m in reasonable shape, I keep
the alcohol abuse in its place, I’m extremely pleased with
myself.

Tonight, well, it’s a pretty normal night. We’ve got the

expats, we’ve got local businessmen, the odd backpacker,
the odd student. And they all sit around watching MTV, and
eyeing each other up.

And it’s quiet except for this couple of German cotton
buyers, who both turn out to come from Munich, and get into
a heated row about the worth of marriage, and? and 1868, and
uh, when they get a bit too loud, I move in, calm things
down, make a couple crap jokes.

Everything’s cool.

They shake hands, make some plans for the night, and head
off together through the back door.

Which comes as some surprise to me.
Cause I’ve been here six years, and I never knew there WAS
a back door.

I walk over. Stare at it. I’d swear it wasn’t there
before. But there it is. And I’m not even sure where
it’s gonna come out.
So I try it. Turn the handle, and step out into…

Munich.

I’ve stepped right out onto the Grafinger Strasse,
surrounded by crowds of people going shopping, going
drinking.

I don’t move. My heart’s beating very fast, and I’m
wondering if too much experimentation in my past is coming
back to haunt me.

But this is no hallucination.
These are real living breathing people.

I turn around and the door’s still there.
I go back inside, and yes it’s the same bar.

It’s the same bar but as I look to my left as I walk
through, there’s another door, just like this one.

I look at the door. I feel like the door’s looking back.
And if the door could smile, this one would have a nasty
spiny-toothed sarcastic smile, from its beaten-up laminated
face.

Gotta do it. Got no choice.
I’ll go through.

This is the Shibuya district of Tokyo. I remember it well.

Taught English here once.
The arab? neon signs became European neon signs and now
Japanese signs.
Same neon, different spirit.

Now two Japanese girls slip past me

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