Waiting for Kirsten

We were waiting for Kirsten, me and Joel,
'Cause we found out the name of her hotel,
With the folköl and an evening paper,
In which she spelled out my name letter by letter.

Well, I grew up outside this city,
Where the local Estrella chips factory
Had paved the way to your grave and to your destiny,
So what can a suburban boy like me do when she mentions me
Except compromise a portion of his dignity?

Another club, another beer, another hour --
Squint at the clock up at the church tower.
"What she's doing here, you think?"
"I heard she's filming with von Trier."
"Hey Klara, how's your night?
Did you know about Kirsten? Have you seen her?"
She says:"Yeah she was here,
But she was turned away at the door."
I know, I know, I can't believe no one told her before...

That in Gothenburg we don't have VIP lines.
In Gothenburg, we don't make a fuss about who you are.
In Gothenburg, we don't have VIP lines.
But then I bit my tongue, and the taste of blood was so strong.

'Cause times are changing, Kirsten:
Göta Älv is slowly reversing;
They turned a youth-center into a casino;
They drew a swastika in your cappuccino.
And the VIP lines are not to the clubs
But to healthcare, apartments and jobs.
"Hey buddy can I borrow five grand?
'Cause my dad's in chemo,
And they wanna take him off his plan."

I said, in Gothenburg, we don't have VIP lines
I said, in Gothenburg, you're not worth less, and you're not worth any more.
I said, in Gothenburg, we don't have VIP lines,
But then I bit my tongue, and the taste of blood was so strong.

At the end of the night, me and Joel
Went back and sat outside her hotel
And drank beer after beer 'til the sun came up,
And since she didn't show up, Joel said I had to man up,
And write a note of affection, and leave it in the reception.
And I wrote this confession with the lipstick from his girlfriend
on the back of our receipt.
But the receptionist said I was drunk and asked me to leave.