| How well you walk, leggy apple
|
| How do you sign the air, ole que ole
|
| swell and rattle
|
| Doors open wide on their own
|
| At the advance of your fruitful step
|
| Olé and olá
|
| And how well your walks flow
|
| At the bar counter and you order white wine
|
| You raise the glass and toast for you
|
| Today is your birthday
|
| Thirtysomething and alone
|
| Alone
|
| How well you smoke, how well you look at your night
|
| How much do you know about everything and men
|
| What you don't know
|
| Of married people too, of foreigners
|
| Troubadours or not, all the percale
|
| And finally, finally...
|
| And that's why you're alone and you celebrate
|
| To yourself, for you, and you make decisions
|
| You blow the smoke, you see it rise…
|
| you want to have a child
|
| And have a good father
|
| A father
|
| That he will be a handsome and educated guy
|
| Affectionate, friendly, cheerful
|
| and in good health
|
| And solvent. |
| And I still forget something
|
| That he likes to make a lot of love
|
| fuck well
|
| And you, in return, will be his fascinating
|
| Spring of affection, grace and adventure
|
| You raise your glass and toast to him
|
| will be a lucky
|
| because you are going to want it
|
| want it
|
| You finish your drink, you get up
|
| Your steps are already taking you to the street
|
| You're already leaving the bar
|
| I wish I was the lucky one
|
| From the previous stanza, the king of the sea
|
| of your love
|
| But what can I do but sing to you
|
| And stay drinking the wine and oblivion
|
| I blow the smoke, watch it rise
|
| goodbye my thirties
|
| and have a good trip
|
| Good trip |