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The Machine

de Daniel Ciurlizza

When I go to visit my friends in São Carlos
I feel my heart full of joy
And we love to talk about the things we lived
We did together
Many years ago

There’s a friend who once lived in a wagon
A train wagon without wheels

Without wheels, without wheels
Without wheels, without wheels

And we’ve spent so many hours listening to
Bob Dylan
Like a Rolling Stone without home
In a dark room of the same old wagon
We’ve developed a thousand scenes from cans (rolls) of film

Pics of mountains, lakes, falls, and girls
On a train wagon without wheels

Without wheels, without wheels
Without wheels, without wheels

Without wheels, without wheels
Without wheels, without wheels
Without wheels, without wheels
Without a home
Like a Rolling Stone

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