Frio

Cold that solders my bones burning me,
Cold that turns my sorrows into frost,
Cold of the anguish of the bad weed,
that even when uprooted, it doesn't die and spreads
accentuating in a thousand parts the bad it finds.
Cold that defecates on my back and lies to me,
Cold that expires as soon as there is hope
it turns dirty and starts looking for me,
I never lose it, I carry it in my blood.
Sorrow fallen from nobody's tree,
wind and chill of the unbearable.
Everything escapes,
my love plays hard to get.
And this is the cold that threatens,
hiding in the misfortune of those who will never feel,
and it's the same that bruises,
that infects in certainty
and shakes hands with the truth.
I arrive swimming in a stressful puddle,
from the shore I distinguish the one from before,
no one escapes the poison cold,
it's not redundancy, it's true truth.
Always the sorrow, worth the sorrow.
And this is the cold that threatens,
hiding in the misfortune of those who will never feel,
and it's the same that bruises,
that infects in certainty
and shakes hands with the truth.
And this is the cold that threatens,
hiding in the misfortune of those who will never feel,
and it's the same that bruises,
that infects in certainty
and shakes hands with the truth.