Decirme Nada
Cristóbal Briceño
Tell Me Nothing
Can you separate yourself from your work
Without shedding blood?
Without tearing flesh?
The one who paints, when painting
Is another person?
The one who writes, when writing
Is another person?
Could it be that the man
When he loves what he does
Is himself like never before?
And the woman devoted
Completely to her work
Doesn't she reflect in it
Like the moon in the lake?
Can you separate yourself from your work?
Surely yes
But what the hell of work
You don't have to tell me anything
I understand the contradiction
I love you
Since we're talking about love
Let's examine that which you feel
I see you love a lot
The fruit and hate the tree
You don't have to tell me anything
I understand perfectly
Keep your distance
