a colourful desert, you can ride the sandy wave, right through the market, on hand woven rugs, a spicy cascade. graze fresh silky pearls and watches gold, the finest of worlds and gifts for every desire a gift for your mother, a gold engraved ring. dad doesn’t care much for material things. the sun bleached the sand and dress of a man, with a shadow on women in black and on hand Chorus: a poem on postcard, with every new face a struggle for balance, it’s not my place beneath the surface a force field will stay, obscure to the public, perhaps not my place. but visitors pay and all to maintain, the thick veil of fabric, to hide a woman’s bouquet Chorus: a poem on postcard, with every new face a struggle for balance, it’s not my place postcard I send here, see fruit of the land from the juice of a mango, to faith of the man Bridge: it’s not my place and being here taught me, to love and have grace, but it’s not my place [repeated]Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
