I'd be a fool if I suffered for love,
I'd be a fool if I listened too closely
To your stern voice,
To your demands.

Te imagino,
Fumándote un cigarro,
Con los tatuajes marcados en el pecho
Al aire,
Mirándome de lejos,
Pensando en mí.

Las botas de piel sintética están allí,
En el lado oscuro del armario,
Enterradas, malolientes, ajenas a mí.

Están rotas, no, no las levantes,
No, no las brilles con los dedos, están mugrientas,
Miralas, mira las suelas, se van a esfumar.

Ah, sí, las botas,
Las traje para mí,
Para cuando tenga que marcharme.

So, you came closer,
You faced me, fearless,
You tilted my chin with your finger,
I faced you, fearless,
I looked you in the eye,
You smiled,
I smiled back at you,
The bell rang,
I forgot about it, did you?

One of my curls delightfully wraps around his finger,
My hand reaches for his finger, sizes the awful curl,
A word of hate strikes the lover.

You love me, but what is love?
Love is patience,
Love is kindness,
Love is wise,
My love, we are none of those things,
Our love's impatient,
Our love's cruel,
Our love's foul.

See the flower in the desert?
Under the dreadful red sun,
See the petals as they fall?
That is our love.

For you,
M. L.