Timing - Thin White Rope

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