Toque de Queda

In your own source the moon will cry,
With tears made of silk drops,
Making the mist weigh in the mist
In the loneliness of curfew,
In the loneliness of curfew.

The hand that touches remains suspended,
Half a sigh barely from the kiss,
Groan by groan the wound opens
And the night falls by its own weight,
And the night falls by its own weight.

Through every crack, time returns to the houses
Like smoke in the loneliness of curfew

A strange tongue murmurs its price
And another tongue pays coin by coin.
Each trapeze artist releases their trapeze
In the loneliness of curfew,
In the loneliness of curfew.