Como las margaritas

I asked the flower if you love me a lot
and the flower answered yes, others said no.
And in that uncertainty of seeing that you don’t love me,
my heart is dying from sorrow and pain.
When you say yes, my hope is reborn
and I ask again, jealous of your love.
Then like an echo of your own words,
the daisy says you don’t love me, no.

The flower says, says yes, says no.
Just like you, it says yes, it says no.
When you kiss me, I tell myself it makes sense,
the flower lied.
If after a kiss you don’t want me, I think,
love lied.
It says yes, yes, yes, yes, no.
Why does it say yes, then say no?
Don’t ever tell me that you’ll never
give me your heart,
because if you don’t, you’ll kill me.