El Árbol
La Oreja de Van Gogh
The Tree
It was a hot afternoon,
They stopped to rest
Under the shades of a weeping willow,
They began to dream,
It became night,
She wasn't there,
She woke up, it was a play of shadows,
Hours passed, many mornings,
Whole afternoons looking for her warmth
And never imagined, who caused,
Her loneliness,
The tree that stole, her illusion, her heart.
He approached that old tree,
And suddenly discovered,
That it wasn't drops that were sliding,
They were tears of his love,
He got closer,
And slowly joined the game of his enemy,
Inside him, he could hear,
Those heartbeats they took away from him but
never imagined, who caused,
Her loneliness,
The tree that stole,
her illusion, her heart.
