Santiago by John McCutcheon (from the Step-by-Step album)
A lone heart beats on the empty street as a man gazes towards a window. The one his eyes focus on glows a light blue. He remembers installing those curtains, five years ago.
It hadn’t been long after his marriage. Planning ahead his wife had called it, but then she’d gotten pregnant two years later she worried. They’d no money to redecorate if it was a girl. The man remembers telling her that he’s rather have a girl sleeping in a boy’s room than the other way around.
Now that blue room belongs to their little girl. Her pink ponies and pretty dresses proclaiming to anyone who peaks in that no boy lives there. Two and a half years old and a holy terror, but the man won’t trade her for anything. Whistling, he leaves his spot as the light turns out.
He goes to work as his child sleeps in Santiago.