Els Vells Amants

Her hair has turned white with time.
Her hands, nervous and wrinkled.
Her hair has turned white with time
and her gaze a bit sadder.

They love each other as I would like to be loved
(if the customs I follow allow it),
they love each other as I would like to be loved
when hope begins to dry up.

And the old lovers
hold hands.
And they remember, like yesterday,
the flowers they picked.
And the old lovers
hold hands.
They look at each other and know everything,
no need to say anything, no words.

Where the old live, time stopped
with the portrait hanging on the wall.
Where the old live, time stopped
after they got married that Sunday.

The old radio and the big clock
and the lace-covered coffee table.
The old radio and the big clock
that still lazily chimes every hour.

And the old lovers
hold hands.
And they rock each other to sleep every night
like two little children.
And the old lovers
hold hands.
And they ask each other: 'Are you okay?
Today nothing hurts you...?'

And for Saint George's Day, he buys her a rose
wrapped in silver paper.
And for Saint George's Day, he buys her a rose
he has never forgotten this date...

And in the streets, the lovers have lost themselves.
They are not afraid, they are not in a hurry.
And in the streets, the lovers have lost themselves
with a flower and their tenderness...