Everybody knows that is hard to find
a place in life
where time passes rhythmical and thougthless
and the pain is fleeting.
At the shore of the Duero
there's a city
if you don't lnow the path
listen to this:
The dry leaves fall slowly by passing
and the Cierzo starts to talk.
In a lukewarm morning the sun appears
and doesn't warm up.
When you see the Mount de las Animas
don't look at it, overcome yourself
and keep walking.
Becquer wasn't an idiot and Machado wasn't a lout
and by the two you will know
that the forget of love is cured in loneliness,
is cured in loneliness.
At the shore of the Duero
there's a city.
At the shore of the Duero
I wait for you darling.
I'm on the way to Soria,
where do you go?
there I find myself in the glory
that I never felt.
I'm on the way to Soria,
I want to rest
erasing from my memory
betrayals and the rest,
erasing from my memory
on the way to Soria.
At the shore of the Duero
there's a city.
At the shore of the Duero
I wait for you darling.
I'm on the way to Soria,
where do you go?
there I find myself in the glory
that I never felt.
I'm on the way to Soria,
I want to rest
erasing from my memory
betrayals and the rest,
erasing from my memory
passions and the rest.
Everybody knows that is hard to find
the dry leaves fall slowly by passing
Becquer wasn't an idiot and Machado wasn't a lout
that the forget of love is cured in loneliness