- cifra
A boy looks like an old man
He huddles in the cold
And reaching for the darkness
Away from the half-light
A dark girl wonders on
She bears a wound for you
A car comes to a halt
Inside a man waiting
He is calling his house
Eyes fixed at the gun
A bag is tossed on the ground
Its content already used
The cold subsides and someone dies
There in the half-light
He is calling his house
Eyes fixed at the gun
A language she don't know
Telling her about love
He lets him in
He takes his chance
