While waiting for his footsteps
I mute the music, very low
Too stupid, we don't know, if it rang
If I didn't hear this time
Waiting for his footsteps that morning
One evening? One morning? A winter, a dawn
A spring that he will choose
Nothing, I don't know, I put on lights
Nights by the side of the paths
While waiting for his arms I paint flowers on the doors
He will like that
Waiting for the sweet weather of his arms
And I take care of myself, red in my eyes lips, on my cheeks
So that he doesn't see
When too pale sometimes, don't especially
Let him surprise me like ÃÂ §a
There is fresh water and wine
I don't know what he will choose
I don't know if he is blond, if he is brown
I don't know if he is big or not
But hearing his voice I will know
That all his words, all of them, will be for me
Waiting for the sweet weather of his arms
I think about it all the time at this moment
Oh, when we meet again
I'll tell him it was a long time, no
I certainly won't tell him
Waiting for his steps, I live
I dream and breathe for that
Just waiting it all makes sense
One evening? One morning? A winter, a dawn
A spring that he will choose
Nothing, I don't know, I put on lights
Nights by the side of the paths
Just waiting for some sense to all of this, all of this

SUBMIT CORRECTIONS