Thursday afternoon
Who is whistling on the street?
In the air and up the beat
But down the road, I'll never know
Who imagined a song so slow.
Who is whistling on the block?
Across the four squares, made of chalk
But along the way, the wind will drown
a pretty tune across the town.
Who is whistling on my road?
a beautiful pitch God bestowed
but when trees rustle, the song is lost
under dogs and horns and cars exhaust.
Who is whistling outside my door?
An effort for joy, and nothing more.
No coin nor dollar could buy this song
Only by whistle and six beats long
Who is this stranger on my stairs?
Blessing me with melodious prayers?
No instrument by bow or string
could offer what this song does bring.
Through the door and down the descend
up the street and around the bend
a silent road so quiet and long
in the absence of my harmonious song
Look to the left, and look to the right
a traveling menstrual, no where in sight
Only a road with sun and trees
and a musical lack in the breeze
Back up the stairs, with heavy feet
A happy song, left incomplete
Back in my chair, where I had just been
I'll wait for it to come again.
In the air and up the beat
But down the road, I'll never know
Who imagined a song so slow.
Who is whistling on the block?
Across the four squares, made of chalk
But along the way, the wind will drown
a pretty tune across the town.
Who is whistling on my road?
a beautiful pitch God bestowed
but when trees rustle, the song is lost
under dogs and horns and cars exhaust.
Who is whistling outside my door?
An effort for joy, and nothing more.
No coin nor dollar could buy this song
Only by whistle and six beats long
Who is this stranger on my stairs?
Blessing me with melodious prayers?
No instrument by bow or string
could offer what this song does bring.
Through the door and down the descend
up the street and around the bend
a silent road so quiet and long
in the absence of my harmonious song
Look to the left, and look to the right
a traveling menstrual, no where in sight
Only a road with sun and trees
and a musical lack in the breeze
Back up the stairs, with heavy feet
A happy song, left incomplete
Back in my chair, where I had just been
I'll wait for it to come again.