Triste Domingo

Sad Sunday; sad Sunday
With a hundred white flowers
The lover murmurs
Who lived waiting for his gallant date
But it was a vain dreamt wait

Sad Sunday with a hundred white flowers
I waited for you, my beloved, full of emotion
But only the memory brought
Disappointment on its wings
Without your affection; my sorrow is the sorrow
I drink my tears and my heart finds no solace

And so the poor lover was overwhelmed by despair
Today he cries to his beloved with mourning tears
His fate cut short in flowers of death

Don't miss this Sunday, my beloved
With other flowers, I will wait again
With many flowers, hands united
On my chest and a cross behind

And my eyes fixed on you
Don't fear anything, they want to bid you farewell