Her name is Lola and she has a story
Although more than a story it is a poem
Her entire life was spent searching
Nights of glory like a soul in pain
Behind ¡s of her mantle of cold lady
She had hidden tremendous weapons
For face-to-face battles
Which she fought very well with advantage
It went very badly for her hand in hand
From mouth to mouth, from bed to bed
Like a doll that wears out
It becomes old and sorrow drags
Listen to me, my Lola, my tender Lola
Your sad life is your sad story
But what a way to walk
Look at the pride in her look
Listen to me my Lola, my tender Lola
Your sad life It's your sad story
But what a way to walk
Look at the pride in her look
Listen to me my Lola, my tender Lola
Your sad life is your sad story
It was woman serene until the moment
Of giving herself willingly to her lovers
It is time for crying, it is time for doubt
Of nostalgia and its madness.
You have the consolation of knowing you are full
br/>Of clean affection and sincere love
Because no one knew how to steal your kisses
That which is too much for you today and that no one longs for
Listen to me, my Lola, my tender Lola
Your sad life is your sad story
But what a way to walk
Look at the pride in her look
Listen to me my Lola, my tender Lola
Your sad Life is your sad story
But what a way to walk
Look at the pride in her look
Listen to me my Lola, my tender Lola
Your sad life is your sad story
It is the time of the wrinkle that does not forgive
It is the time of fruit and paint

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