Los lloraba Sevilla

He is from sunrise to sunset in the marsh, all day among cotton and rice fields. She always studies behind a curtain that she slides open secretly from her mother. He sees her even in the furrow of the plow, she draws hearts on her papers. The sun set and he left the tractor, she kept her homework in her folder.
And when he went to look for her, yes, her mother deceived him, no. Don't go look for her again, she left you for another. Another who studied business like her, these are the things that happen when young people talk, don't go look for her, it's useless to keep planting more rice if the water levels don't drop.
And that same night he returned to the rice fields and with his sad tears he watered the cotton fields, blaming the marshes and the royal ducks, cursed be the corner that faced that street.

A rumor spreads through Seville: he loved her, she studied business, he painted on the ground before ending his life an arrow, a heart, three initials. She opened the newspaper looking at the corner, her smile revealed in the headlines, and already dead she dried her tears on the curtain, leaving a note to her mother on a sheet of paper: the boy I loved, yes, what must someone have told him that she took her life for me and didn't come yesterday afternoon.
And that same afternoon where we are all the same, they were seen hand in hand and holding each other tightly. Seville cried for them, its squares and streets, tears ran through the air by the river. And the Giralda said with scents of orange blossoms: as I am taller, I saw two young people in the sky.
The marshes cried and the royal ducks cried, and the corner that faced that street cried.