Al Morir la Tarde

Smell of burnt grass
Smell of stable and pine
Animals resting
And commotion on the road

Behind the distant mountain
The moon rises curiously
And as the evening dies
The light turns on in the hut

A bell tolling
A horizon of fire
The bird arriving at the nest
And lifting its plea to the sky.
Oh! Oh!

Smell of burnt grass
Smell of stable and pine
Animals resting
And commotion on the road

The voices of the day are heard
That go very far, very far
Like past loves
That always leave echoes

And so the evening dies
Like our life goes
It wraps itself in shadows
Until it is lost
Oh! Oh!