Las hojas que ríen
El Ultimo De La Fila
The Laughing Leaves
I sweep it from the inside,
I tell myself it's not for me,
that I only want the flower of time.
I don't need anything else
just the breath of a sunrise,
the rest is just the smoke of incense.
Fall asleep in the shelter of this afternoon,
fall asleep in anise water,
fall asleep in the lullaby of the breeze,
fall asleep in the fleeting green.
Tell me it was true
that there was a path here,
that I too am lost.
Like the bullfighter abandoned by his courage
I blindly search for hiding places.
Fall asleep with the gypsy lullaby,
fall asleep in the fleeting green,
fall asleep under a nest of sins,
fall asleep for I will watch over.
If they exist, I must find
languages of a world that is
asleep among the leaves of books.
I prefer to tell the truth
if I can only breathe
next to the tree of the laughing leaves.
Tell me it was true
that there was a path here,
that I too am lost.
When the steam of the fierce soul dissipates
the economical bullfighter remains.
Fall asleep in the shelter of this afternoon,
fall asleep in anise water,
fall asleep in the lullaby of the breeze,
fall asleep in the fleeting green,
for I will watch over
