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I want to tell you, dove
All the pain that overwhelms me
On those long nights
When not even the morning star appears
When the caldén on the hill
It's like an uncertain spectrum
Silent stillness of death
Stung by the idea
And the cuna grass pants
In the chest of the desert

I want to tell you my love
That the sun no longer shines
That thyme does not perfume
Let the Spartan not whistle
That the wind says nothing
It doesn't even blow like other times
Not even the broom blooms
And the tamarisk stallion
It crumbles under the threshing floor
From the absence he suffers

I want to tell you my love
That nothing exists without you
That the moon does not dress
Galas in your gaze
What if you're still angry?
Even the jagüel is going to dry up
And even the lamp, when it burns
A cold flame will bleed
Before a tear of mine
Caught on fire when spilled

I want to tell you my dream
Even the baker is a tavern owner
And if in my soul there is a bonfire
Your heart is the wood
My poor southern payment
He runs out of the bolide
Of the birds that have gone
Not hearing your chirping
I go in to look and I don't see anything
More than goodbyes in the nests