If you were asked if there was
someone who loved you to the point
of thinking that he wanted nothing in return—
just your happiness—, who'd leave you be,
and then take him back to let him know that, for you,
It's never enough.
No, it's never enough. Sorry if I cut you off,
but perhaps you're not aware that, for me,
the world doesn't exist because you exist first.
You who go through me, and you, you who with stars dress
the sky, and convince me that I'll never have enough of you.
And you, ever impatient,
you who cry and hide nothing,
not even when you say you've erred and want to change
You, so strong and lonely, you.
You, so different yet the same; you, field of sunflowers,
make me smile when you, before undressing, say
you feel shy around me, and then your face changes.
The world shakes when you say "love me harder."
But you don't understand that the world doesn't exist
Because you exist first.
You who go through me, and you, you who with stars dress
the sky, and convince me that I'll never have enough of you.
And you, ever impatient,
you who cry and hide nothing,
not even when you say you've erred and want to change.
You who go through me, and you, you who with stars dress
the sky, and convince me that I'll never have enough of you.
You, so strong and lonely, you.