When I left town,
I meant to come back,
To turn my village
Into a great city,
Make it flourish,
But I'm not there,
And I ain't coming back.

My old street is my name,
My neighborhood, my family name,
Its lake is my busy calm place,
Its morals, my constant fight.

A town always wanting,
Waiting to be,
The capital of county,
The capital of the state,
The capital of hearts,
Trapped with a small
Megalomaniac obsession,
A misplace inside a panic room,
The dream of a solved traffic congestion,
A myth of buildings and skyscrapers,
A proud town,
Proud of all citizens that left,
Proud of all you can find in there
That could never be found three,
Proud of a growth measured by irrelevant mesures.

A great town,
Hidden in a beautiful valley,
In the middle of no paths,
More peculiar each day,
With decaying ideas
In the exact proportion
Of a growing population.

There is many of it in me,
But there's nothing there about me.