Y Qué Hay De Mí?

What about me
what about my soul
that gets upset
between cups and notebooks.

What about so much
pursued illusion,
what about the pain
that breeds and nurtures it.

It would be easy and beautiful
to write about the water,
or to say it's night
and the stars sing to me.

but in reality
this anguish in my throat
freezes my voice
and I can't sing this morning.

What about me,
what about my desires
that the sun doesn't cheer
and the bell no longer sings.

I wish to commune
drops of rain
transparent air
and enjoy my ever-present laughter.

But endless nights
drag through my bed
and death grabs my feet
and tightens my throat.

And what about me,
where does that river go,
terrible and turbulent
that takes me and drags me.

Chorus:

What about me,
what about me,
that laughter leaves me and the song doesn't want to come out (there's no song anymore)