My friend, I know, you live only for him,
who knows too, but he doesn't see you
like I do, pleading with my mouth to say
that he's confessed between drinks,
that your skin is what he dreams about at night
that he goes crazy with every button
you undo thinking of his hands.
he hasn't seen you tremble, waiting for
a word, some gesture, an embrace.
he doesn't see you as I do sighing,
with your little eyes wide open
listening to me say his name.
Oh my friend! I know and so does he.
My friend, I don't know what to say,
or what to do to see you happy.
I wish I could take charge of the soul or of freedom,
which is what he needs to do;
to fill your pockets with victorious wars,
with dreams and renewed hopes.
I want to bestow on you a poem;
you think I'm giving the news.
My friend, I hope that one day while listening to my song,
suddenly, you understand that what I never wanted
was to tell your story
because it could prove to be moving.
but, forgive me, my friend,
it's not intelligence or wisdom;
this is my way of saying things.
it's not that it's my job, it's that it's my language.
My friend, princess of an endless tale.
my friend, my only intention is that you count on me.
my friend, let's see if one of these days,
I learn how to talk at last
without going around in circles,
because this whole story is of importance to me
because you're my friend.
que lo sabe también, pero el no te ve
que me ha confesado entre copas,
ni que hacer para verte feliz.
que es lo que a el le hace falta;
de sueños e ilusiones renovadas.
tu piensas que estoy dando las noticias.
amiga mía, tan solo pretendo que cuentes conmigo.
por fin aprendo a hablar
que toda esta historia me importa