I lose myself under the neighborhood's moon at night;
On the footsteps of loneliness, alone I eavesdrop.
So many variations; the colors, gray and black so bright,
Mixed with the stones and the dirt where I walk.
When you arrive on September 3rd,
There will be solitude in my street
But you'll have my shoulders to lean on.
Saturday night will be given away to a dream so sweet;
I'll keep it a secret and wait for you to come home.
Joy to those lucky ones that live in anticipation,
And those who travel to a foreign and far away land.
I am caught under the moon, and I'm so impatient
As I weave my hopes into a worry-beads' band.
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