A Las Once Menos Cuatro

I'm at this broken table
dilapidated and old
Thinking it over... a mess!
that when I rest my elbows it complains.

I patched it up with a crooked board,
but I grab the guitar and it gives me an ear!
I look at the sky sliced through the bars
of a crappy window
and I arrange life in a note
that doesn't always come out very even.

Since very early on, the little angel
of saying things has been circling me
maybe because there are so many it doesn't come out
not even a rough phrase.

The mate he gave me... made him angry!
seeing me choking and half fed up
he caught a paper that he arranged in prose
and gave it to me... at eleven minus quarter.

Your heart will say what is needed
for the rest... I can't... it's an excuse
I love you very much! he wrote... and below
La Negra: and here I am, doing this.

I don't know if many people are interested
in being so sincere
you can make a verse from the bone
with a simple... I love you!