This feeling kind of feel on me right now,
In this small cafe, and I know why.
Those youth years,
When we didn't care about shit.
So grandpa, he wasn't my grand father,
Really strange man who had no place to live, no relatives,
Respected by certain people, liked flowers,
We had a huge garden.
He was living outside in the garden foe entire springs and summers,
Never wore a jacket or hat from March,
I think I got it from him..
He would say,
Respect people who grow beautiful flowers, not who cells them.
He was only one man who raised his voice on me.
First time asked me to buy bread,
I said no, and he slammed the room door without saying a word.
Then me and my mom had, well the last fight,
We didn't know he was sleeping in another room.
I started that, my mom went yo something else
And he went from the bed room and looked at me:
Shut up, you live with your mother,
Everything here is for you.
Otherwise he called me, my beauty.
He had mama tattoo.
Then he left, giving a gold ring.
