| In your abandoned garden, sunlight still prevails:
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| The jasmine climbs the trellis fragrantly, the
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| jacaranda ultravioletly sways.
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| The blossom. |
| each of them by your hand planted,
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| Will, even if I tell them of your sudden
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| Disappearance from us,
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| Not believe the tale.
|
| Though the samba has ended, I know in the sound
|
| Of your voice, your piano, your flute, you are found,
|
| And the music within you continues to flow
|
| Sadly, lost Antonio.
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| You were my inspiration, my hero, my friend;
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| On the highway of time will I meet you again?
|
| If the heart ever heals, does the scar always show
|
| For the lost Antonio?
|
| For the lost Antonio?
|
| In your abandoned garden, beauty is unchanged:
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| The hummingbird still hovers for the scent the
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| frangipane so seductively displays.
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| Camellias, each of them by your hand planted,
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| The sadness of your sudden disappearance still
|
| unknown to them,
|
| Await the kiss of rain.
|
| Though the samba has ended, I know in the sound
|
| Of your voice, your piano, your flute, you are found,
|
| And the music within you continues to flow
|
| Sadly, lost Antonio.
|
| You were my inspiration, my hero, my friend;
|
| On the highway of time will I meet you again?
|
| If the heart ever heals, does the scar always show
|
| For the lost Antonio?
|
| For the lost Antonio? |