After he sings, the man remains alone,
alone in the loneliness of his head,
alone in the solitude of the seats
and a shroud of air is silent.
He knows that now, suddenly, it is done later,
Even after I sing, I'm blind.
Then look at the guitar and wink at it.
What the guitars will not know about abandonment.
After he sings, the man remains alone,
for each one returns to his footsteps.
They leave the words on the carpet.
The time of the word was the scene.
He knows that now, suddenly, it is done later,
Even after I sing, I'm blind.
After he sings, the man remains alone,
surviving the same uncertainty.
But again he orders his concerts
like a false angel who insisted.
He knows that now, suddenly, it is done later,
Even after I sing, I'm blind.
Only among all we can make this a better place :)