A La Misma Hora, En El Mismo Lugar

Lucía and Joaquín: At the same time in the same place,
He went every afternoon to see her pass by,
She embraced with that man,
And he in love with that woman. . .
At the same time in the same place,
At the same table and in the same bar,
He left his heart crying for love,
For that love that took away his sleep, his life, and his peace. . .
And then at night he returned home,
A kiss, a caress from the one who waited for him,
Always the same reproach, her absent gaze,
Always her image, owner of his mind. . .
And then again, awake in bed,
Trying to forget her, holding his pillow,
Again that question: 'tell me what's wrong?'
And he who answers: 'nothing, until tomorrow. . . '
At the same time in the same place,
He returned that afternoon to see her pass by,
She as always with that man,
And he who was dying for that woman. . .
At the same time in the same place,
At the same table and in the same bar,
In the end, he wrote her a love letter,
With what he would have wanted to say but didn't dare. . .
And then at night he returned home,
A kiss, a caress from the one who waited for him,
Always the same reproach, her absent gaze,
Always her image, owner of his mind. . .
And that night in silence he left the bed,
He packed what was left in a suitcase,
He placed the letter on the pillow of his wife,
To that unfaithful love, to the one he loved so much. . .
And he left slowly to never return,
He left on that Sunday night,
But every now and then they saw him pass by,
At the same time and in the same place. . .