Vestido de Hombre Rana

Wearing a frogman suit, on a Sunday I'll come to pick you up
like all boyfriends do to pick up their girlfriends,
and once a week, I'll cry for your absence,
flooding my diving helmet with tears of truth.
We'll dance holding each other with the music of a compressor group,
and with compressed air, we'll toast to the joy of love.
Wearing a frogman suit, I'll recite my poems to you,
taking tears of seawater from your eyes,
and once a week, I'll go to church
to pray for your waist to some real saint.
Turned into pagans, we'll climb a mountain to meditate,
to worship golden calves and burn incense sticks on an altar.
We'll eat the roots of the plants that make us dream the most;
to interpret the world, assuming there's something to interpret.
We'll dance holding each other with the novelty of a unique step,
and with compressed air, we'll toast to the joy of love.