Esmerelda falls in love every Saturday
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And on Sunday morning don't remember a thing
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And the gringos are all saints of the latter day, that's the way
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And it takes a little pain out of the sting
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Holy water tastes as sweet as wine
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Holy wine tastes just like blood
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She's drinking for loss, for the man on the cross
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She says no more, the awful ache
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And in her bedroom there's a mirror there
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Sometimes it don't reflect a thing
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And from the street he sees her silhouette
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And he can't forget
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That her kisses are as sweet as wine
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And her kisses taste like myrrh
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Her love is lost, like the man on the cross
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And no more, the awful ache
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Esmerelda walks on down to the cemet'ry
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And he's waiting for her in the shade
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With the angels and the sad old trees, patiently
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But she walks right past his grave
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She's crying for loss, for the man on the cross
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She says no more, the awful ache
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She's crying for loss, and the man on the cross
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She says no more, the awful ache
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-----------------
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The Awful Ache
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| The Church |
