My sorrows, my joys,
my sadness and loneliness,
my lost illusions
and a way to go.
Sometimes I ask the wind
and he does not want to listen to me
the wind continues its march;
I stay and he leaves.
The street where he played
my youth of my dream:
a cigarette secretly,
a Sunday without playing.
Sometimes I ask the wind
and he does not want to listen to me
the wind continues its march;
I stay and he leaves.
When I walk down the street
and they look at me as they go by,
s? that those same people
of m? They will forget.
The lights have turned off
with the final applause,
and those who love me so much today
tomorrow will make me cry.
Sometimes I ask the wind
and he does not want to listen to me
the wind continues its march;
I stay and he leaves.
Sometimes I ask the wind
and he does not want to listen to me
the wind continues its march:
I stay and he leaves.
Only among all we can make this a better place :)