We owe ourselves to the first loves,
to the unforgettable "forevers"
and to the fleeting lies
that made us happy once
We owe ourselves to the oil
and to the body, not to hatred,
much less to others that aren't us
We owe ourselves to happiness
(at least)
And even if we ran out of memories
I'll remember myself (it's a promise
or at least that is what I pretend)
Since the truth is that I quickly forget
what I feel; I regret
I regret to owe you so much, but
I regret more to owe myself;
must be unbearably sad
I know I owe you and you owe me
but I preffer the debt
long before the duty
What I do not tolerate is
the doubt -
the cowardice of the "would have"
what we would be
what we did not be
what we keep wanting to be
How unbearable is to carry corpses
believing that you can still bring them to life
It's enough; at the end
and if I'm not mistaken
I owe you a funeral,
I owe you a birthday
And maybe, a birth
And if I'm in the mood,
I owe you a "sorry".
Feb 23, 2018
Feb 23, 2018 at 3:18 AM UTC
We owe ourselves to the first loves,
to the unforgettable "forevers"
and to the fleeting lies
that made us happy once
We owe ourselves to the oil
and to the body, not to hatred,
much less to others that aren't us
We owe ourselves to happiness
(at least)
And even if we ran out of memories
I'll remember myself (it's a promise
or at least that is what I pretend)
Since the truth is that I quickly forget
what I feel; I regret
I regret to owe you so much, but
I regret more to owe myself;
must be unbearably sad
I know I owe you and you owe me
but I preffer the debt
long before the duty
What I do not tolerate is
the doubt -
the cowardice of the "would have"
what we would be
what we did not be
what we keep wanting to be
How unbearable is to carry corpses
believing that you can still bring them to life
It's enough; at the end
and if I'm not mistaken
I owe you a funeral,
I owe you a birthday
And maybe, a birth
And if I'm in the mood,
I owe you a "sorry".
(Spanish Translation)
Nos debemos a los primeros amores,
a los inolvidables "por siempre"
y a las mentiras fugaces que,
por lo menos, nos hacían felices
Nos debemos al óleo y al cuerpo
no al odio, mucho menos a otros
que no somos nosotros propios
Nos debemos esa felicidad
(por lo menos)
Y aunque lleguemos a no tener memoria
me recordaré (es promesa
o por lo menos eso pretendo)
Ya que la verdad olvido más rápido
que lo que siento; lo siento
Siento deberte tanto, pero más
deberme a mí mismo; ha de ser
insoportablemente triste
Sé que te debo y me debes
pero prefiero la deuda
mucho antes que el deber
Lo que no tolero es la duda -
lo cobarde del "hubiera"
lo que seríamos
lo que no fuimos
lo que nos quedamos queriendo
Qué insoportable cargar con cadáveres
creyendo que aún se pueden traer a la vida
Pero ya; a final de cuentas
y si no fallan los cálculos
te debo un funeral, un cumpleaños
y quizás un nacimiento
Y si me hallo de ánimos,
un "lo siento".
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