¿Qué Será, Qué Será?

I believe in many things that I haven't seen, and you do too, I know.
One cannot deny the existence of something felt even if it's ethereal.
There's no need to exhibit proof of decency of what is so true.
The only gesture is to believe or not. Sometimes even believing while crying.
It's an incomplete subject because it lacks an answer;
an answer that some of you, perhaps, could give.

It's a technicolor subject to make something useful out of love. For all of us, amen.

Oh, what will be, will be
that wanders sighing through the bedrooms,
that is heard whispering in troubadour verses,
that is combining crazy questions for us,
that is in the minds, is on the lips,
that is rising through many gaps,
that are speaking loudly in the cellar,
and shouts in the market, what is that?
It's nature, will be, what will be,
that has no certainty and never gives you,
that has no concept, and never will,
that has no size.

Oh, what will be, will be
that lives in the ideas of those lovers,
that the most delirious poets sing,
that the drunken prophets swear by,
it's in the pilgrimage of the mutilated,
it's in the fantasy of the unhappy,
it's in the day-to-day of the harlots,
in all the bandits and helpless ones,
in all their senses, what will be,
that has no decency and never will,
that has no censorship and never will,
and lacks sense.

Oh, what will be, will be
that no warning can prevent,
that not even the prisoners can defy,
that all roads will have to cross,
where all signs will consecrate,
and all the little children will investigate,
and all destinies will find,
and the same eternal Father who never went there,
will bless man again
extinguishing the final flame of hell,
because it's pointless to roll back
for lack of judgment.

Ohhh, what will be
Ohhh, what will be
Ohhh, what will be
(Ohhh, what will be)
That the prophet swears, the poet sings, and they're shouting in the mock-up,
Oh, what will be
(Ohhh, what will be)
That wakes me up at night, and makes me tremble, makes me cry,
(Ohhh, what will be)
They're ghosts, they're ghosts, I feel the door knock three times,
Oh, what will be
(Ohhh, what will be)
They're sighing through the bedrooms and whispering troubadour verses,
listen up!

(Ohhh, what will be)
It has no size, and it's nature, it's on the lips and in the minds,
(Ohhh, what will be)
All the little children will investigate it and no warning can prevent it,
(Ohhh, what will be)
In every bell it will ring, and the one who is asleep will wake up,
(Ohhh, what will be)
They're ghosts, they're ghosts, I feel the door knock three times,
Oh what will be!!!

(Ohhh, what will be)
They're ghosts, they're ghosts, they're ghosts, they're ghosts
I hear the door knock, oh, the door knock
(Ohhh, what will be)
It's lived by the bandit, the helpless one,
the harlots, the unhappy ones,
the reverend and the firefighter,
the president, the shoemaker,
and the teachers and the carpenter,
the citizen and the foreigner,
also the judge and the showman,
the nurse, the helmsman,
the santero, the Marxist,
the grocer and the masochist