Els meus ulls aquí

When the wind is the old friend
that descends mountains to bring you its kiss
and in love is fierce and in the game faithful
I think I've been lucky to be able to open my eyes here.

When the sea is the old lover
that penetrates the rocks and bitter your skin
and in love is fierce and in the game faithful
I think I've been lucky to be able to open my eyes here.

When the time... when the time...

Time was time, when still the witches
trooped on the bell tower
and were mistresses of nights and storms
with regular flight lines.

Come on kids, come on, it's like a puppet show,
hey, the rooster sings, the curtain has risen,
first act, slowly the sun rises.
The plain awakens and Montgrí yawns big.

Time of lazy rows of carts
seeking the horizon,
time of longuet and the leather bag
to go to school, and 'face the sun',
time to say: 'mossèn: it's been more than a month
and I don't know how many bad thoughts I've had'.
'Average it out, average it out'.
Touching parts is a sin, help me God,
ten thousand hells are burning, help me God.
Oh, in the fifties, morality in a stick.
Time for cinema at three pennies
with the right to whistle for the cut the kiss.
While grandparents practiced languages
with tourists from the surroundings:
'I threw it all away
and then turned kilometers towards joy.
And you'll find it, you'll find it'.
See how he understood me, you do the next one.
Shh, in French anyone can handle it.
Oh, in the fifties, wisdom in the heart.