This balm does not heal scars,
This rumbita does not know how to fall in love,
This rosary of unhappy accounts
Shut up more than he says
But he tells the truth.
This store of sheets that do not burn,
This phone without answering machine,
I'll call her tomorrow, today I'm late,
This cowardly way
Not to say no.
This with you, this one without you so bitter,
This hourglass of the sand,
This kissing strike, this lethargy,
These long pants
For the old peter pan.
This comfortable without zara panties,
The soho tour from a red bus,
These eyes that do not measure or compare
Do not forget your face
They do not remember your cross.
Do not abuse my inspiration,
Do not accuse my heart
So battered and worn
Which is closed by demolition.
For the wrinkles of my voice
The desolation is filtered
To know that these are
The last verses that I write to you,
To say condios to both we have plenty of reasons.
This country so far from your gypsy,
This prison of the port without vis a vis,
This civil war, this hand in hand,
These Moors and Christians,
This wall of berlin.
This virus that does not die or kill us,
This amnesia in the roof of the palate,
The limousine of dust by manhattan,
Winter in Mar del Plata,
The verses of the captain.
This becoming greater without delicacy,
This wet muscatel back,
This valley of sadness factories,
This foam of certainty,
This hive without honey.
This blur of blood and Chinese ink,
This bathroom without rimmel or nembutal,
These bones that come back from the office,
Inside a raincoat
With patches of loneliness.
Do not abuse my inspiration,
Do not accuse my heart
So battered and worn
Which is closed by demolition.
For the wrinkles of my voice
The desolation is filtered
To know that these are
The last verses that I write to you,
To say condios to both we have plenty of reasons.
Only among all we can make this a better place :)