The dark and loud nights in New York settled the mood
For the man in a white tank top and jeans to play whatever song he could
In a coffee place full of looking eyes amazed by so much power
They didn't want to go away, they didn't want to count the hours
That man knew the entire world without leaving the beloved city
He could make the little things important and pretty
He owned a precious collection of everywhere's culture
Reading a poem, singing a protest song, talking about art and its fancy social structure
When I look into his eyes I feel like home
He'd carry me around and tell good old stories
About his live, his career, about all the things he could've shown
All the thing he could've lived, sitting in his well deserved throne.
The
light and calmness of the sea shore
brought peace to his loaded mind
when everything he ever dreamed was about to happen.
He could stay there
forever
watching the tide come and go,
he could start an argument with
himself
about every little mistake on the road.
He could describe every
move of the water,
but not the very one that carried him away.
