Rosa Gris
Duncan Dhu
Gray Rose
Gray rose, sweet gaze and lips of glass,
and the skin I didn't touch, white as her intention.
Without knowing the rules of the love street,
you can't flirt with the city's passion.
Life and illusion fade away
like the old train that never returned;
down the love street they go,
where, without thinking, they will be sold.
Once, the day brought the opportunity
to fly even beyond the love street,
noticing the princess silk, caressing
the glass girl, the cold gray rose.
Her skin hardened and her voice
no longer broke when sighing;
the gaze learned to ask
for what it once didn't dare.
