Al Rojo de La Tarde

In the heat of the afternoon
a silhouette rises
humming a tune
the key is in the door
sitting and almost in the dark
touching the piano
until the end...

With torn notes
her blood carries rivers
the tears slip away
her hands are made of glass
sitting and almost in the dark
touching the piano
until the end...

The blue bow
of an old cat oh, oh, oh
attaches some memory to her chest
deeply rolling, playing a solo
a dead sun paints her hair.

The night softens
to the warmth of her body
her waist freezes
the music escapes far away
sitting and almost in the dark
touching the piano
until the end...