| And you grow and with time it melts
|
| you are no longer a warrior or a straw dog
|
| and watch things change
|
| suspended by a thin thread:
|
| and music grows and meanwhile
|
| hide a smile
|
| you don't say you cried,
|
| and learn to shrug
|
| and to sell your skin dearly.
|
| And Lola goes to school tomorrow
|
| she walks and is alone
|
| and she looks at the evening
|
| and she thinks words of love
|
| and she writes a little new song
|
| and she writes a story that says:
|
| "Tomorrow we will be happy"
|
| And you grow up and can't sleep
|
| so close your eyes and count the loves,
|
| that maybe I'm not enough,
|
| that perhaps they are not the best;
|
| it's like you light a match
|
| inside a room that is night outside,
|
| and see things from a distance,
|
| but without the shapes and colors ...
|
| And Lola calls you by name
|
| she waits for you every night and she is no longer alone
|
| and she looks at the clouds and the sea
|
| she holds your hand and everything is fine:
|
| she knows silence and noise
|
| and she writes words of love ...
|
| The line of children does not sleep,
|
| of friends, of women, on the doing of the day
|
| that keep the lights on
|
| to keep you from falling asleep;
|
| do not sleep but if it were true
|
| it would be only the greatest love ...
|
| the love you dream of. |