Balada De Marzo

It usually rains in the afternoons of March
slowly and in fog the light hides
stepping on the exile of the evening
I remember a scent of rain and yesterday.

Far from March it doesn't usually rain.
Where will your tenderness and your skin be?
I think of you in the rain and in the evening
lost in the fog it starts to hurt.

I go alone, very alone
and because of the gray of March the color fades.
I am far, very far
the faint voice of the wind that hovers around your song.