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Waiting in Havana, always stuck in Cuba, and
What I think to be days, could turn out to be weeks, and
What I think to be months, could turn out to be years.
I could wait my whole life, just to wait at the gates for you.

But then I hear Mr. Lacey say:
"In heaven there's no husbands and wives."
And every time it gives me hope, but just sets me up,
Because then I always hear myself say:
"What does it matter, if I'm going to hell."

But if it turns out that your soul was meant for mine,
Hell can't hold me, and I'll be there to greet you.

Maybe when I'm judged, I can strike a deal.
Maybe god will let me sit outside until my better half arrives.
Maybe he'll even forgive me and let me wait inside.
Maybe he'll decide it's not my time, and send me back to you.
But maybe not.

Probably not,
Because I don't believe in any of this shit.

I will live in Cuba.
I will die in Cuba.
And I will rot in the ground by myself.