Wooden Elephant

Wooden Elephant

A wooden elephant
Atracts me on the market sight

Made by the hands
Of a poor african guy.

Her sad and tired eyes
And her colorful tissue
Remind me tribes
That sales arts, for any price.

The one I chose
She emphasized
"There's a little baby inside"

It seems really frighted
Carved by the same hands
Those who wait the help arrive.

Bonitos St.

Bonitos St.

Her old style amuse me
Like no other does

People walk her up and down
And the day goes

By day, it comforts you
Like an old friend

By night, you can be fooled
By her fake dead end

But the name
No one can't deny

A quiet diferent path
That try to hide us from the damn city life.