Street on the hill, morning mist still clinging to the rooftops

The gentle breeze whispers through the wooden window frame

Da Lat opens its eyes slowly like an old musical score

And here, the light falls so gently

White lime walls amidst the laughter of artists

The familiar scent of coffee and people in colorful tickets

Stepping inside leaves behind the noise of the street below

Only ideas remain, floating like flowers

Street on the hill, where dreams take shape

Where hands slowly enter creativity and hearts

Breathing the air of the street on the hill amidst the clouds of Da Lat

Each little corner is a sky of its own

Not just a studio, but a starting point

Not just a space, but early inspiration

The afternoon rolls in, the yellow lights illuminate the houses

The street on the hill still remains in my heart as life has arrived

Street on the hill, morning mist still clinging to the rooftops

The gentle breeze whispers through the wooden window frame

Da Lat opens its eyes slowly like an old musical score

And here, the light falls so gently

White lime walls amidst the laughter of artists

The familiar scent of coffee and people in colorful tickets

Stepping inside leaves behind the noise of the street below

Only ideas remain, floating like flowers

Street on the hill, where dreams take shape

Where hands slowly enter creativity and hearts

Breathing the air of the street on the hill amidst the clouds of Da Lat

Each little corner is a sky of its own

Not just a studio, but a starting point

Not just a space, but early inspiration

The afternoon rolls in, the yellow lights illuminate the houses

The street on the hill still remains in my heart as life has arrived