| Why are there stars that shine but cannot be seen?
|
| And there are people I never get to know
|
| Although I can see them
|
| They are the wounded blues of dawn
|
| They fall from the sky, scratching me
|
| scratching you, scratching you
|
| There's a universe of little things
|
| They only wake up when you name them
|
| All that is beautiful is waiting for a glance
|
| I have a caress that without you spills over me
|
| There is a universe made of little things
|
| That fly over your head if you blow on them
|
| There are sunsets that don't just set
|
| There is a whole sea summing up in your mouth
|
| And I swear to you, my life, that I crossed it
|
| ask your skin
|
| You don't remember anymore, my little companion
|
| When I told you about my universe, do you see?
|
| You didn't believe me, did you?
|
| that there are corners
|
| where love hides
|
| A whole universe of little things
|
| She is waiting for me in it
|
| From one cloud to another
|
| There is no promise that resists those doubts
|
| There is not a caress that can give that moon
|
| And I swear to you, my life, that since yesterday
|
| The moon is, is in your skin
|
| I swear to you, my life, I will find you
|
| Next to that space
|
| You and me and the sky, the sky
|
| that there are corners
|
| where love hides
|
| 'Cause there are stars that shine out there, I know
|
| And there are places that I could never know
|
| That's why come and see, with me the sun that
|
| Of silver splashing the seas
|
| Of silver splashing the seas
|
| of little things
|
| There's a universe of little things
|
| In which bitters braid flowers
|
| To decorate borders
|
| There's a look that whispers behind my back
|
| When secrets are either told or kept quiet
|
| If I swear to you, my life, what can I do
|
| From this universe for you a good one
|
| And you swear to me, my life, that it can be
|
| You and me and the sky, that sky
|
| And I swear to you, my life, what can I do
|
| From this universe for you a good one
|
| And you swear to me, my life, that it can be
|
| that there are corners
|
| The afternoons that get… |