He stands by the doors of the Rex all night  Chain-smoking Celtas  His eyes trouble more than one woman  His voice is heavy and deep  There's dirt on the sidewalk  And the newsboy yell  Nothing ever changes at the Parallel  Nothing ever changes at the Parallel  There 's a girl at the Molino  She wears a leather coat  The dust of Barcelona  Sticks to her heals as she walks  Trough the door  And he thinks: "What the hell  does she come here for?  Maybe she wants me, and that's  her way to say it?  Maybe she wants me, and that's  her way to say it?  Maybe she wants me, but who am I to tell?  He bites his fingernails  Scratches his eyebrows  Lights another cigarette  Watching the queens of the street  Acting their parody of love  And he feels like he stands by the gates of hell  Nothing ever changes at the Parallel  Nothing ever changes at the Parallel  That girl from the Molino  Who wears the leather coat  Sits there rockin' slowly on a chair  Gazing dreamly at the door  And he thinks: "What the hell  is she looking for?  Maybe she wants me, and that's  her way to say it?  Maybe she wants me, and that's  her way to say it?  Maybe she wants me, but who am I to tell?"