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
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,
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