I know that holding you back is pointless,
I know you're leaving tomorrow,
don't suffer for me,
but one single gift I'd still like from you.
My love, my love, give me many roses,
tonight, once more, tell me many things.
I'll stifle my heart, as you are demanding;
you'll be able to lie again, I will never cry again.
My love, my love, I will never cry again.
What will it be of me?
Don't ask it, because I'll fall down like a star,
and maybe, one day, I'll get back to nothingness.
My love, my love, give me many roses,
but many of them, once more, pick the thorniest ones.
I'll hold them on my heart, as if I were holding you;
if I haven't your love anymore, what will it be of me?
My love, my love, what will it be of me?
My love, my love, give me many roses.