| I'm walking on the side
|
| sunny street
|
| I do not deviate from my course
|
| looking at the details
|
| And find myself on that side
|
| it is something that does not surprise me
|
| Because my mother told me:
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| "Baby, walk in the shade."
|
| I walk without haste
|
| and the sun is hot
|
| I don't care if they yell at me
|
| don't even call me those in front
|
| What they observe me and do to me
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| so with the finger
|
| And I turn my head
|
| and I pretend I don't see them.
|
| But that behavior doesn't bother me
|
| I was already on that side
|
| and I can understand...
|
| I walk while charging
|
| my story in the backpack
|
| And sometimes I can't see
|
| with so much light that dazzles me
|
| And if I don't want them to find out
|
| I'm meditative
|
| I put on my black glasses
|
| and I get into my world.
|
| I choose a song and I play it
|
| And I turn up the volume
|
| in my headset…
|
| And although she does not give me
|
| afraid to pass,
|
| nor to return
|
| I know I don't want to cross again
|
| the line is there
|
| i can feel it
|
| But the sun hits your face
|
| and it's fine that way.
|
| I know where I am, I know where I'm going
|
| But I know how weak I am
|
| Better not insist on living again
|
| In places where one has been happy.
|
| I'm walking on the side
|
| sunny street
|
| And I hope that this time
|
| intuition does not fail me
|
| And out of the corner of my eye sometimes I look
|
| the shadow side
|
| But I better not look too much
|
| otherwise I deviate.
|
| But even if those who know
|
| tell me no
|
| I know very well that it exists
|
| the dark side of the sun...
|
| And although it doesn't give me
|
| fear of passing
|
| nor to return
|
| I know I don't want to cross again
|
| the line is there
|
| i can feel it
|
| But the sun hits your face
|
| and it's fine that way.
|
| I know where I am, I know where I'm going
|
| But I know how weak I am
|
| Better not insist on living again
|
| In places where one has been happy.
|
| No no no no no no…
|
| And although it doesn't give me
|
| fear of passing
|
| nor to return
|
| I know I don't want to cross again
|
| the line is there
|
| i can feel it
|
| But the sun hits your face
|
| and it's fine that way.
|
| I know where I am, I know where I'm going
|
| But I know how weak I am
|
| Better not insist on living again
|
| In places where one has been happy. |