She was there.
In between the staircases.
It was under them
The grey city and the stone dome.

So she was in a sweater
With a magic violin in her cute hands.
And she was in the underground
With some workers passing angry by.

With her left hand
Dancing among the sounding strings.
And her right one
Rotating fiddle-bow with a beautiful passion.

And I stood there
Following her her hand with restless eyes.
And so she played
Smiling with her eyes  pointed at me.

Yet I'm not the one
In that moment she could see.
Yet music's not the only
Who could make me forget to breathe.