Con Il Cuore
yo te digo que te quiero de veras
pero negra no te fÃÂes mucho
si me coge alguna borrachera
Oh oh oh borrachera!
Oh oh oh borrachera!
Yo no soy un tipo pendenciero
a mi no me gusta la pelea
pero no se te ocurra ofenderme
en mitad de una borrachera
Oh oh oh borrachera!
Oh oh oh borrachera!
Y yo me fijo mucho en mis palabras
a mi no me gusta hablar quimeras
pero niña si querés un cuento
ve a buscarme en una borrachera
Oh oh oh borrachera!
Oh oh oh borrachera!
Yo soy un ti
The Tree of Life and Death
standing upon the portal where my eyes have become weary, the cold winds
from
the south bring ghastly fragments of the forgotten land, where, once,
the spirits stood
along the desolate shore to
disappear into the silenced murk, "some by the seven gated Thebes in the
land of Kadmos
There, for these, the end of
death was misted about them", as my eyes slowly descend, the dust
transcends into my frail
structure, the wind, the
cold wind breaks my complete silence, the portal for which I stand upon
collapses, no fear I
shall feel, transcendence
into the peripheral, "and there they have their dwelling place and
hearts free of sorrow, in
the islands of the blessed,
by the deep swirling stream of the ocean", the hypnotised sound of
Boetian harps, created by
the force of the spirits,
the faraway lands no longer seem so distant, nirvanaesque serenity as
the hills become
unclouded, the spirits
embrace my soul, as I envision the neutral spectrum before me, the harp
echoes and echoes
and..... my wings take
me to the bewilderment