Ella

I got tired of begging her,
I got tired of telling her
that without her I die of sorrow.
She didn't want to listen to me anymore,
if her lips parted
it was to tell me: I don't love you anymore.
I felt that my life
was lost in an abyss
deep and black like my luck.
I wanted to find oblivion Jalisco style,
but those mariachis and that tequila
made me cry.
I got tired of begging her,
with tears in my eyes
I raised my glass and toasted to her.
She couldn't despise me,
it was the last toast of a bohemian
with a queen.
The mariachis fell silent,
my hand weakly
let go of my glass without realizing it.

She wanted to stay
when she saw my sadness,
but it was already written
that that night
I would lose her love...