Mi calle es Nueva York [English translation]

I feel the breath of the wind dusting off

a summer love on a postcard,

on a postcard.

I keep looking for your face in the rear-view mirror

that watched my skirt at sunrise,

at sunrise.

The radio is an orchestra and my street is New York,

the cars are carriages for two,

the store on the corner a beautiful ballroom

where you and I are dancing.

I want to be able to figure out what time

whistles as it passes by so quickly and I'm not able,

and I'm not able.

Like an ocean wave that surrenders to port

after escaping I want to rest,

I want to rest.

The radio is an orchestra and my street is New York,

the cars are carriages for two,

the store on the corner a beautiful ballroom

where you and I are dancing.

The cats are pigeons flying around,

the stripes of my pajamas the prison

to which I always return when I turn off the alarm clock.

The radio is an orchestra and my street is New York,

the cars are carriages for two,

the store on the corner a beautiful ballroom

where you and I are dancing.

The cats are pigeons flying around,

the stripes of my pajamas the prison

to which I always return when I wake up,

to which I return once more,

to which I return when I turn off the alarm clock.