Ayamonte (Spanish pronunciation: [aʝaˈmonte]) is a town and municipality located in the province of Huelva, Spain. According to the 2005 census, the city has a population of 18,001 inhabitants.
The township of Ayamonte preserves its old medieval quarter in the central district of the town, with many very narrow streets and historical buildings; this central area is a designated car-free zone.
For centuries the ferry link between Ayamonte and Vila Real de Santo António was the traditional crossing point between Spain and Portugal. A modern bridge over the Guadiana River has now been built to the north of the town, linking the motorway systems of the two countries, but the ferry still runs and provides an inexpensive mode of transport between the two countries.
The beach area of Ayamonte is Isla Canela, and is reached by a causeway across the Marismas del Guadiana; the marismas (salt marshes) are an important wildlife reserve, providing a home to many waterfowl, including herons and flamingos. Isla Canela is built along several kilometers of sandy beaches, and provides an ideal area for windsurfing, kitesurfing and sailing. There are a number of quality golf courses in and around the area, including one built into the Marismas itself.
We drown in the bile
Of a frustrated birth
A knife grows in every back
Jaws clenched and tongue bitten
These are all wasted words
These are all a wastrels words
Meanings you will never find
Hidden, lurking between the lines
We are revolving to
Our drain
We are revolving to
Our drain
I've lifted my chin
And ignored the noose
But there is gravity
In the centre of the void
The seed of its end
In every creation
Of a sullen cremation
Heels in the tug of tide
We shudder on shore
Lands end
And what have we got?
Nothing but memory
Success or failure?
Gathering our rags
We walk into the waves
We are revolving to
Our drain
We are revolving to
Our drain
The brightest light
Will gutter, quicker
The wax will stifle the wick
As we burn
For the yearning ember
There is nobility in flame
For the faltering fire
There is only shame
We feel the whine
Sharply, in our teeth
And all our pasts
Chained to our ankles
This is not another
Slit wrist suicide
Its our future drowning
In the bile of cyanide
We are revolving to
Our drain
We are revolving to
Our drain
We drown in the bile
Of a frustrated birth
A knife grows in every back
Jaws clenched and tongue bitten
Drowning in the currents
Of another fleeting void
At the mercy of sleep
The brightest light
Will gutter, quicker
The wax will stifle the wick
As we burn
For the yearning ember
There is nobility in flame
For the faltering fire
There is only shame
Only shame
For the faltering fire
There is only shame