In one day of these about that I am in the habit of thinking
“ today it(he,she) is going to be the least well-considered day ”,
we have crossed, you have decided to look,
at the blue ojitos that now go to your side
From the moment in which I knew you
summarizing with hurries time of silence
you I swear that I have returned to say to nobody
that we have the record of the world in to love ourselves.
Because of it it(he,she) was hoping with the sweet little face steeped
to which you were coming with roses, with(in spite of) thousand roses
for me,
because already you know that I am charmed with these things
that it(he,she) does not import if it(he) is very silly, I am like that.
And still(yet) it looks like to me a lie that escapes my life
imagining that you turn to pass hereabouts,
where every Friday every evening, like always,
the hope says " still, today probably yes... "
Escaping a night of a yawn of the Sun
you asked me that it(he,she) should give to you a kiss.
With reduction sales that go out my love,
what finds it hard to keep silent about me to you with one of
this.
Six months happened(passed) and you said good-bye to me,
a pleasure to coincide with this life.
There I remained, in a hand the heart,
and in other one excuse neither that nor you were dealing.
Because of it it(he,she) was hoping with the sweet little face steeped
to which you were coming with roses, with(in spite of) thousand roses
for me,
because already you know that I am charmed with these things
that it(he,she) does not import if it(he) is very silly, I am like that.
And still(yet) it looks like to me a lie that escapes my life
imagining that you turn to pass hereabouts,
where every Friday every evening, like always,
the hope says " still, today probably yes... "
And it(he,she) is that I start thinking
that the real love is only the first one.
And it(he,she) is that I start suspecting
that the others are only to forget...
Because of it it(he,she) was hoping with the sweet little face steeped
to which you were coming with roses, with(in spite of) thousand roses
for me,
because already you know that I am charmed with these things
that it(he,she) does not import if it(he) is very silly, I am like that.
And still(yet) it looks like to me a lie that escapes my life
imagining that you turn to pass hereabouts,
dondé every Friday every evening, like always,
the hope says " still, today probably yes... ".