I know what it is to sell cold sentiments for cash
They say what it is, it's hard to give you more than that
I wait for a little while by the countertop display
With all the pretty things that take my breath away

The windows start to ripple every early afternoon
They burn until the evening but never are consumed
Even in an hour of shadows escaping from the west
I wish that I could turn the sunset into cash

Copyright: BMG Rights Management
Writer(s): GUY BENJAMIN KYSER