It's time, I confess,
And I confess in my way,
To the ear of who hears
The truth of my miseries.
I confess I had run
Over grass paths,
Without looking around,
Where the soil cracks.
And I confess without fear
That the pride and the arrogance,
Have been my Rocinante, 1
My saddle, my spurs.
I confess I had lied
To who asked for the truth,
Of not dressing the poor,
For not even looking at him.
And I confess my mistakes
Beecause my end is near
And I fear everything
The final act is coming.
1. The horse of Don Quijote