Quante volte [English translation]

What's wrong, sweet friend?

Maybe, you are a little in love.

You must have thought that I was alone,

that I was not with him, anymore.

What's wrong, my friend?

Maybe, it's my fault, too.

Ambiguity takes roots

where a thought goes to die.

So many times I think I'd leave him.

I can't tell you how many times I think I'd reinvent him.

I bear the wounds of his pain,

and he breathes to the rhythm of my heart,

and he keeps getting on and off

the wheel of my fate,

but, every time, he looks a little bigger.

I was going to steal your sweetness

and then draw it on his face.

And I wanted to rest

just for a moment next to you.

Rit.

So many times I think I'd leave him.

I can't tell you how many times I think I'd reinvent him.

I bear the wounds of his pain,

and he breathes to the rhythm of my heart,

and, so many times, he is born again

of my hands,

and, every time, he looks a little bigger.