Life gives birth to us as disadvantaged pieces of land,
Mom, last month... Dad lost his job!
Little child! I wait for you at the end of the white line.
I will go to a peaceful place and wash away the sun
For the bright sky... and then the rain, drop by drop
For the scars on our skin to sway with the music.
Mom, last month... Dad lost his job!
Little child! I wait for you at the end of the white line.
I will go to a peaceful place and wash away the sun
For the bright sky... and then the rain, drop by drop
For the scars on our skin to sway with the music.