Para Mi Amigo

I can sell my soul to the devil, and my body to others and even rent my guitar for money or destroy my image as if it were made of plaster, or gamble my hope at 'seven and a half'. But not this flying and small poem. Taste of love. Pomegranate color, that I have written for my friend... You are good. You are sweet. You are manly. Alcohol will destroy my liver and moths my skin, smoke my lungs and men my brain. You can leaf through my dreams, fondle the memories and tear me apart with cries and verses, games and loves. But not this flying and small poem. Taste of love. Pomegranate color, that I have written for my friend... You are good. You are sweet. You are manly. I was lucky with women, which is a lot, and in my hands the spring, which is saying something. I have climbed where the snow burns and I have fallen into the hole. Ask me for whatever you want because I have everything. But not this flying and small poem. Taste of love. Pomegranate color, that I have written for my friend... The good one. The sweet one. The manly one.