Okay, Madrid, let's see your hands in the air.
The kings fight for glory in their thousands.
Young men
with their dreams.
They died for the guns,
for their country.
A book of faded pictures,
broken dreams.
And they're driving down,
they're driving down,
they're driving down,
they're driving
The station's full of hacks on the roof and up
and who pulls you out towards the sun
Where are they now?
The
general says you march to Stalingrad
