under the bridge i saw the old man again
i call him the old man and the chance
what is the color of his eyes, i can't tell
it looks like a watercolored dance
like a watercolored dance

under the breeze he wears a smile called mary jane
a shawl that he once found in spain
he never asks for nothing, he's a busy man
he's the best story-teller of this land
he's the best one of this land

and i say my oh my, if the gods are kind,
one day i'll know ‘bout the shawl and the smile

under the grey i saw the old man again
we talked like two old friends on a walk
he said we always learn about our sores and pain
i started to believe i'd never fall
and i wrote it on the wall