What little is left of this April, escaping from me,
The rainwater oxidizes the sun of my country,
Trying to crush my broken future,
I can't rewrite the story of destiny.
Speaking of you, speaking of me,
Speaking of entire nights without sleep.
The years that I lost, passed all too lightly
The kids in my neighborhood read books backwards.
I pursue a truth, written on a piece of paper,
Of a dream threatened like the sky over Babel.
Speaking of you, speaking of me,
Speaking of stories of little kindergarten kids.
My point of departure,
The years of my life.
I put "I miss you so much" in the ghost's diary.
As my hours burn,
The macarenas cry,
Common pains,
Petals from wallflowers.
Turned on to this angst,
I passed my crazy years
And a sad disenchantment,
Dreamed of white pianos.
At night on the sidewalks
Ladies in conversation
Left comedies
Something from their lives for me.