Florence

Little Tramp

Compositor: Vitor Fernandes Guimarães

Another week, in sort of speak
I couldn't dig your high hopes
You won't believe when I say I'm intrigued with your poor show

I know that I'm a little out of line
Walking around with bottles instead of glasses, oh mine

A lonely man in a cold land
Writes on his hand the time he will spend
To bring his reason home back
Until it goes out again, goes out again

Covered in sheets, raises up the heat
And keep warm his flawed plan
He wouldn't know
How could he know? In the cold he will stand

I know that you're a little out of line
Trying to get in the way of storm to delay the sunshine

A lonely man in a cold land
Writes on his hand the time he will spend
To bring his reason home back
Until it goes out again, goes out again