Sin llaves
El Ultimo De La Fila
Without keys
This sad copla that I sing to you
with my clumsy, distant verse,
is the bitter copla of my situation
far from your side, tired.
How sweet is the memory,
how bitter is the truth,
when everything darkens
without the rhythm of your light.
Seeking the ray of inspiration
in the muses of the third division,
I am the firefighter of the evening,
with cognac I put out the fire of your love.
Saint Mary, pray for us.
Strange music, take me to the air.
How sweet is the memory,
how bitter is the truth,
when everything darkens
without the rhythm of your light.
I will return to your side
to the uncertain light of a song
and in my confused ripios
I will awkwardly swear my love,
I will lie.
If the muses flee, I will only dance
eccentric strange dances.
If I remain silent, I will not lie to you
with my bitter, distant copla.
How sweet is the memory,
how bitter is the truth,
when everything darkens
without the rhythm of your light.
How sweet is the memory,
how bitter is the truth,
when everything darkens
without the rhythm of your light.
