Un garito, el pasillo que une el camerino con el office y el escenario, las entrañas de la sala, un chico tímido está trabajando, y agradece la sonrisa, una chica seria, concentrada, a punto de salir a cantar, agradece que la dejen espacio, después....
.
This never-ending song scratching,
scratching my brain like a vinyl in desire.
This never-ending thought is coming and is gone,
it's traveling on a plane on my way.
And in a highway too, as if I speak for you and I say
that you did those things I did in the past, it's true.
And in a highway too, in a truck I do keep your stuff in my pocket,
just like I did with the days we flew.
This never-ending song is coming and is gone
it's traveling on a plane on my way.
This never-ending song is coming and is gone
it's traveling on a plane on my way.
Gone, play on.
Gone, play on.
Gone, play on.
Gone, play on.
Gone, play on.
Gone, play on.
Gone, play on.
Gone, play on...
.
.
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