Te Debo Una Canción [English translation]

I owe you a song

which tells of women with kumquat skin,

of the cold springwater

which washes the wrinkles of your face.

Of men who curse

and save your portrait from the blaze,

who with conchlike voice,

shout your name from the cliffs.

I owe you a song

to set free every morning,

to take the salt

of tears from the colour of your pajamas.

So when you walk

at the edge of life every Monday,

you free your wings

if the tube does not stop at your cloud.

I owe you a song

but this morning without windows,

the usury of the abductor of my future,

the gray wall which surrounds your garden,

in the end, do not allow me to dream.

I owe you a song

but the sweet absinthe of oblivion,

barking at night and television,

the frozen wall around your garden,

finally, perhaps the newsbulletins,

do not allow me to think, you see, in melodies.

But I'm working on it, I swear I won't forget.

I owe you a song

which cleans the dirty face of the fairies

you come across in the street

imprisoned in golden lamps.

Which tells about the books

you abandoned on the park benches,

they hold the secret

which kept Scheherazade awake.

I owe you a song

which placates the wrathful morning

if stolen away from your husband

and in some bar the muses catch us.

Well, if we're late,

night shelters us like mothers

who care for their offspring

and fear that their children grow up.

I owe you a song

but this morning without windows,

the usury of the abductor of my future,

the gray wall which surrounds your garden,

in the end, do not allow me to dream.

I owe you a song

but the sweet absinthe of oblivion,

barking at night and television,

the frozen wall around your garden,

finally, perhaps the newsbulletins,

do not allow me to think, you see, in melodies.

But I'm working on it, I swear I won’t forget.