If infinity no longer has stars
or the vast sea loses its immensity,
the black of your eyes does not die
and the cinnamon of your skin remains the same.
If the rainbow lost its beauty
and flowers lost all scent and color,
my sadness would not be as great
as that of no longer having your love.
I care about you, and you, and you,
and only you, and you, and you.
I care about you, and you, and you,
and no one more than you.
Black eyes and cinnamon skin
that bring me to the point of despair.
I care about you, and you, and you,
and only you, and you, and you.
I care about you, and you, and you,
and no one more than you.
~~~~~
(I care about you, and you, and you,
and only you, and you, and you.)
I care about you, and you, and you,
and no one more than you.
Black eyes and cinnamon skin
that bring me to the point of despair.
I care about you, and you, and you,
and only you, and you, and you.
(I care about you, and you, and you)—
and no one more than you—
and no one more than you.