Sobre La Cruz del Olvido

How sad it is to sing to the wind
when one should sing to man.
Luckily the wind knows too much
for it to be amazed.

Many times I sang like just another among many
but I could never know what my singing seemed like.
With loneliness in my eyes, my heart was a troubadour
that sometimes used to tune to accompany a sorrow.
How many dreams I told the wind that went with it
like an invisible light among the shadows of time.
Then, when I was dead on the cross of oblivion,
a memory tried to approach me as if it were a friend.

He told me once that man has no glory
because he pawned it for the account of some story.
He says that each one is affirmed in his monument
and how bitter are the things the wind says.
Once, being young, I looked at the road
I calculated the distance, dreamed of a destiny
measured meter by meter, step by step
my destiny was lame, my dream, maimed, each step a life and another experience
and at the end of the dream, I feel in patience.

The star shrank just at the moment
when I needed more light for the inside.
Not everyone dreams and leaves a mark
knowing that no one will think of it.
I am time for myself, no one denies it
my distance begins... where I arrive.

It's always good to know, never forget
that man has a lot to warm up,
the fire of oblivion burns deeper than
hell itself from its depths.
I know how much it burns that when I smoke
more life than my life is that of the smoke.
It goes towards the wind
and I stay with the tremor of the cigarette between my fingers.
Once, being young, I looked at the road
only he knows what I have suffered
measured meter by meter and yet
every time I walk it, it gets longer.

Pilgrim and distance, only leagues remain
made into a knot and this nonsense
of seeking winter, my spring
they will not say I didn't want it when I die.
How sad it is to sing to the wind
when one should sing to man.
Luckily the wind knows too much