It will never tell its secrets
Old boards, an audible moan
Holding up the sagging roof
A crumbling foundation of stone

The years have done their damage
The summers of scorching sun
All the wet and icy winters
A battle with nothing won

An old harness in the corner
Wearing its coat of dust
A plow no longer plowing
Growing a harvest of rust

If we would only listen
Oh, the stories it would tell
Of barefoot kids in the barnyard
Mama ringing the dinner bell

Tonight will be the last night
That it shadows in the sun
Tomorrow it’s gone forever
The old barns race is done

Cada mañana comienza tu último día.
Cada mañana es el último te amo.
Cada mañana mi vida se detiene unos segundos
sólo para escucharte respirar.
Le temo a los días y a las noches,
a las horas y a los minutos.
No consigo una noche de sueño,
por miedo a esa pesadilla que pronto será realidad.
El recuerdo de tu sonrisa
siempre aparece en mi memoria,
aquella última verdadera sonrisa
y aquel último beso.

the sound of a wave lapping,
summer thickens

and suddenly everything is
vaguely surreal, under the
hidden stomach of the stars

ghosts of silver struggle
in the white light.

when the water splashes
little islands croon.

love, rescues me from
the millions of pieces
where i lie scattered.