Lighted gaze and tired eyes, white,
long and strong hands,
thousand voices among noises,
nature dies in there.
At the end of every work day,
she let's her hair down,
she does not know but this habit,
let's her freedom out.
Has a shy look and speed steps,
she's used to live y day,
she's saves money for his books,
'cause he loves action tales a fast city,
work for money, hungry for a life,
a nice escape and her delight,
is to travel trough the lines.
If you some day came across,
with her walking alone,
never try to write her story,
she has her own hands.
If you some day came across,
with her walking alone,
never try to write her story,
she has her own hands.
There's a young girl with her child,
living without time, a park resting,
waiting for them, to bid the sun goodbye.
