| Every day a little slower
|
| but nevertheless I always start again
|
| After a nice phrase whispered
|
| like any unknown applicant,
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| I start to cry
|
| Unexpected feeling of being alone
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| with so many people around
|
| What was before, what is always, what is now
|
| all together makes me delirious
|
| To daily drunkenness I forget that I have to return
|
| When the bloody swallows die
|
| they never come back to the city anymore, the loads of moments I spent
|
| with you alone they will no longer return
|
| When the bloody swallows die
|
| they never come back to the city
|
| The heaps of moments I spent
|
| with you alone they will no longer return
|
| It's just that you don't understand that in life, little princess, you also have to learn to win
|
| An English gentleman lost in
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| Buenos Aires who now lives in Madrid
|
| I told winter that in autumn
|
| I already saw some of them pass by
|
| Naked on the street in spring
|
| there are no more flowers to plant
|
| When the bloody swallows die
|
| they never come back to the city
|
| The heaps of moments I spent
|
| with you alone they will no longer return
|
| Like a runaway and destitute colt
|
| reviled and without air already
|
| lengthening to the maximum each sigh
|
| in happiness surges |