They say that at night
All he would do is cry;
They say he didn't eat,
All he would do is drink [alcohol].
They swear that heaven itself
Shook upon hearing his weeping,
How he suffered for her,
And even in death he called her:
Ay ay ay ay ay, he sang,
Ay ay ay ay ay, he moaned,
Ay ay ay ay ay, he sang,
He died of incurable passion.
When a sad dove
Will sing to him very early in the morning
Alone in the house
With its little doors, two by two,
They swear that dove
Is none other than his soul,
Which is still waiting
For the wretched one to return.
Coo coo, dove, coo coo, don't cry.
Dove, will those stones
Ever know anything of love?
Coo coo, coo coo,
Coo coo, coo coo,
Coo coo, dove, don't cry anymore.