Diomedes Diaz
Miscellaneous
At the End of the Path
I felt at the end of the path
the infinite cry of a woman
who was holding a poem in her hands
br/>written by someone who one day met
was that inhabitant of the world
with the sensitive soul who wanted to have
the love that was impossible for him
and upon seeing his destiny his life ended.
No one knows who was to blame
she was never able to give him
what he was asking for
a little bit of affection, even for a moment
and although wanted, his heart never obeyed him.
And today they sing
lonely verses that are born from a man
who flew away
with wings made of illusions
that he did not realize.
Where it is
in heaven perhaps
a love
I mark its end (Encore)
I found myself at the end of the path
the fallen dreams of that heart
that in its desire to find illusions
suffered a thousand deceptions trying to love
and now she remembers that man
who put in his hands that song
and I would like to give him his soul
but it is too late
the cross was the end.
I don't know if he is brave or cowardly
the fatal decision to erase with his blood
the sorrows that came
from looking at someone unattainable
who does not know what they offer him happiness
And today they say that he had in his hands
br/>the sacred photo of that girl
and a verse and black eyes that she never sang.
Where is it
in heaven perhaps
a love
I mark its end (Encore)
And today they say that he had in his hands
the sacred photo of that girl
and a verse to black eyes that he never sang

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