As these pictures that are not for hanging,
As the tablecloth of the dinner of yesterday,
Always hoping that he(she) says something to you more
And my felt words do not want to fly...
it Saying is never dissolved in tea
as the unfaithful person never says I will do it
I sit that I am in a jail of love
you will forget me if I do not sign my declaration...
Abrazaría without doubting
for seeing your facing listening to myself to speak to the
devil
you are everything what more I want
but you I lose in my silences
my eyes they are two crossings black
that have never spoken clearly
my heart full of a sorrow(sentence)
and I a wrist(doll) of rag...
Every silence is the humble one to
stay behind my non-stop(steadily) of crying
I want to tell you what I sit for you
who listens to speak the moon of January
you looking at you...
Abrazaría without doubting
for seeing your facing listening to myself to speak to the
devil
you are everything what more I want
but you I lose in my silences
my eyes they are two crossings black
that have never spoken clearly
my heart full of a sorrow(sentence)
and I a wrist(doll) of rag...
I do not have fear to the eternal fire
to his(its,her) bitter stories either
but the silence is some kind of cold
and my winters are very long...
And to your return estare far
between(among) the verses of some tango
because this sincere heart
died in his(its) wrist(doll) of rag....