22.09.2021
Harmonica
Who is playing the harmonicain this pink-blue dusk?
I don't see the player, the concrete
has hidden him far, far away.
Behind trees, fences and roofs
he's concealed, but with his song
he is here around me
and perhaps seeks my soul.
This hard soul has not shed a tear
from things way darker
but some small harmonica
is able to make it cry.
Ah, play, play, play,
you small harmonica, play!
Unable to find its own tones,
you turn my soul into a song.
Ah, play, play, play,
no matter who you are and where you're from.
Unable to find its own tones,
you turn my soul into a song.
Who is playing the harmonica
in this pink-blue dusk?
I don't see the player, the concrete
has hidden him far, far away.
Behind trees, fences and roofs
he's concealed, but with his song
he is here around me
and perhaps seeks my soul.
This hard soul has not shed a tear
from things way darker
but some small harmonica
is able to make it cry.
(x3):
But some small harmonica
is able to make it cry.