Fin de Semana

I'm dying inside
If you say you don't love me
My breath is cut off
And I'm pinned by a thousand needles
I go straight to the bar
Of the dead hours
Going inside
And erasing all my traces
You don't impress me
With that tough attitude
I always find your bones,
Even in the dark
I, as I'm not very normal,
Decide to look for you
Looking for you in the darkness
I usually find you
But tomorrow is the weekend
Inside the maze of your gaze
Because this time I don't feel like it
With this drunkenness
And this unhealthy life
I want to see you at dawn
Partying with the Catalan rumba
And not having to say anything to each other
No, no,
Not saying anything,
No, why?
Not saying anything.
And sometimes I light up
And I go out like a candle
I lie down like a fool
To watch the stars
Thinking about what I would give
To touch your hair
Like a clock hand
That has lost time
I'm dying to see you
In the morning
I keep looking at the phone
To see if you call
I go straight to the mailbox
Of your missed calls
Trying to locate you
It's already daytime
But tomorrow...
But tomorrow...