Pronóstico Del Tiempo

Where did I leave the skin
that I used to wear,
and those stones to stare,
and those hands to slip away?

Where did the after go,
the urge to laugh
and that fever to kick
and that Sunday to die?

A distant land like yesterday
where I let fall
my years without roots...

Where did the trace fade
of the passion
and those boots to fly
and those embers to sing?

When did it stop being?
Is there somewhere to ask?
Or is it all nothing?
Or is it all nothing...

Is there somewhere to return?
Where to see again
those furrows of belief,
those shadows of forgetting?

Is there somewhere behind me?
Where? Somewhere?
Where in time?
Where to tie the ropes?
Where did I get lost?

A distant land like yesterday...