When I go to work
I think of you,
through the neighborhood streets
I think of you,
when I watch the faces
through the tarnished glass
not knowing who they are, where they go.
I think of you,
my dear, I think of you.
Of you, companion of my days,
and of the future
of the bitter hours
and the luck of being able to live,
working the start of a story
without knowing the end.
When the shift ends
and the evening goes
stretching its shadow
over the stork
and on returning from the job
arguing among friends
explaining problems
of this time and fate,
I think of you,
my dear, I think of you.
Of you, companion of my days,
and of the future
of the bitter hours
and the luck of being able to live,
working the start of a story
without knowing the end.
When I arrive at home
you are there,
and we fasten the dreams...
Working the start of a story
without knowing the end.