Texty: Niño Y Pistola. As Arthur & The Writers. Santa Barbara.

He was looking out the window
at all the roofs across the town.
In the sill the plants were shaking
underneath that deep white sky.

Dry and neglected,
worn out by the wind,
trembling with fear
alone, waiting for the sun.

It was night time
he'd spent three hours on that chair,
he was starving
but he wasn?t strong enough to stand, not that day.

Noise and confusion
were filling his head,
broken illusions
and dreams that had blown away.

Dry plants were shaking on the windowsill
and dreams were just fading away.


(Gracias a e por esta letra)