They say that I was your lover and that I adore you,
that I beg you not to leave my side
and that I used to sent you roses una vez al mes,
and that you are very sorry to have left me.
You are going to excuse me, madam, but I don't remember,
and excuse my dearing, but I don't feel anything.
Who are you?
Where have you come from?
I am not that one,
the one whom you swear to have hurt.
Who are you
that I don't remember you?
Perhaps it is that your betray
already close up the memory to the heart.
They say that your kisses were my weakness,
and that we walked together holding hands.
You are going to excuse me, madam, but I don't remember,
and excuse my dearing, but I don't feel anything.
Who are you?
where have you come from?
I am not that one,
the one whom you swear to have hurt.