| In your hermit bulín you are still missing
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| The bombachita hanging from the bathroom faucet
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| You've been taking the body out of the bulge for too many years
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| With profound arguments worthy of a Dalai Lama
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| And you still have the bed as cold as a deceased
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| When you are questioned about your marital status
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| You don't know what to say, if single or divorced
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| On Fridays, holy days, you go out to break the night
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| Ten liters of gasoline to the car, and a tour of the
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| courts
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| Let's see what gets up to put a worthy brooch
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| Medium-profile gallant who plays the center
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| When you arrive at the counter with your summer pass
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| What you dream of, brother, is difficult to find
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| I know that she is brave to bank the loneliness of Sunday
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| And that soccer and pingos begin to not reach
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| It is true that friends are the greatest thing in the world
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| And also that in the depths of your soul you are with me
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| Listen to what I tell you, put it in your head
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| That sadness is not erased by getting on any train
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| You need a woman instead of a thousand princesses
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| Do not think that it is advice, what am I going to teach you
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| I!
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| If I am much worse than you, my memories are old
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| Look in front of the mirror, in the bathroom cabinet
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| The bottle of disappointment no longer has any more straws
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| Play to do the simple, that this can be your year
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| Kiss her as you know, give yourself the poetry
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| To live in the company of the woman you love
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| Convince yourself that you can not go to Seville
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| That you are going to lose the chair and the most beautiful joy
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| To find the bombachita hanging from the faucet |