Rosas [English translation]

In a day of these in that I usually think

"today is going to be the day least thought"

We had crossed each other, you had decided to look,

To those little blue eyes that now go to your side

From the moment in which I met you

Resuming hurriedly Time Of Silence*

I swear to you that to no one I have returned to tell

That we have the record of the world in loving each other.

That's why I waited with my little soaked face*

That you would return with roses, a thousand roses for me,

Because you already know I love those things

That it isn't important if it is very dumb, I am like that.

And still it seems a lie to me that my life escapes itself

Imagining that you return to pass yourself by here,

Where each Friday afternoon, like always,

The hope says "quiet, today perhaps yes. . ."

Escaping a night of a yawn of the sun

You asked me if I would give you a kiss.

With how cheap they are my love,

What it costs you to silence me with one of those.

Six months passed and you told me goodbye

A pleasure to coincide in this life.

There I left myself, in one hand the heart,

And in the other excuses that you wouldn't understand.

That's why I waited with my little soaked face

That you would return with roses, a thousand roses for me,

Because you already know I love those things

That it isn't important if it is very dumb, I am like that.

And still it seems a lie to me that my life escapes itself

Imagining that you return to pass yourself by here,

Where each Friday afternoon, like always,

The hope says "quiet, today perhaps yes. . ."

And it is that I start to think

That the true love is so much just the first.

And it is that I start to suspect

That the rest are only in order to forget . . .

That's why I waited with my little soaked face

That you would return with roses, a thousand roses for me,

Because you already know I love those things

That it isn't important if it is very dumb, I am like that.

And still it seems a lie to me that my life escapes itself

Imagining that you return to pass yourself by here,

Where each Friday afternoon, like always,

The hope says "quiet, today perhaps yes. . ."