El viejo comunista [English translation]

An old man who used to be a communist

sits down to smoke the entire evening.

While good rain falls outside

the old man thinks with a naked voice.

Why is it that they coincide on his window,

the grey pigeons and the sorrow he smoked

the grey pigeons and the sorrow he smoked.

He turns his eyes to that distant day

back when to a book there was a verse,

to a girl, a thought

back when to a book there was a verse,

to a girl, a thought

He believes nothing can surprise him anymore

that he's cured fron fright,

he wore out crying

that he's cured of the fright,

that he wore out crying

He remembered songs he used to sing

and conversations he had with friends until dawn

and conversations he had with friends until dawn.

He remembered the corner of his house

when he said good bye and saw his mother crying

when he said good bye and saw his mother crying.

And now it's also raining in his eyes

because he's surprised it still hurts.

The years, life, his love,

they all still hurt.