Tordo Viejo
Jorge Viñas
Old Thrush
At my age I stumbled
Upon some brown eyes
And I hung it on Saint Benedict
So the miracle would happen
They were oriental eyes
Sombre and piercing
That tied me to their mouth
So I could taste the poison
That's how it started
My suffering
Those woman's eyes have stuck to me
Like thorns
For becoming the old thrush
I fell prisoner to a love
When I met those eyes
I entrusted myself to prudence
But now I adore them
Without measuring the consequences
Beautiful, bewitching eyes
With which I illuminate my anxiety
But if they leave me
They leave me in horrible darkness
That's how it started
My suffering
Those woman's eyes have stuck to me
Like thorns
For becoming the old thrush
I fell prisoner to a love