They love me, how they love me ...
They love me....
They love me, how they love me ...
They love me...
I
They want to bury me murderers,
the meals with salt and the mirrors.
They've already wanted to bury the old
and some other spirited new pine.
They want to bury me where I guess
-They always wanted to hide away.
Object of the funeral processions,
yesterday or today, it seems like my destiny.
Save yourself compliments and sweats,
forecasts of wit or decay;
I've been with burials for a thousand years
and I know of their decoys and occurrences.
Whoever needs to sink between the flowers
it just needs a little patience.
II
They want to bury me tributes
and some picky ladies.
Why is it that someone needs
Put on candles, send me on a trip?
Do not you realize that such a passage
it's better for broken hope,
to the pulsed sound that is exhausted,
to the harlequin consumer of the ironwork?
Tiñosas, lizards, esperpentos,
bored batrachians and locos.
the blood still runs on my instrument,
solavaya, birds of malagüero.
Fierce world, I say it in oath:
Bury me the leather snoring.
Only among all we can make this a better place :)