I guess the flickering
Of the lights that in the distance,
They mark my return.
They are the same ones that illuminated,
With their pale reflections,
Long hours of pain.
And although I did not want to return,
You always return to your first love.
The quiet street where the echo said:
Yours es are life, dry es are love,
Under the mocking gaze of the stars
That with indifference today they see me return.
Return,
With a withered forehead,
The snows of time
They silvered my temple.
To feel,
That life is a breath,
That twenty years is nothing,
How feverish the gaze
Wandering in the shadows
Looks for you and names you.
Live,
With the soul clinging
To a sweet memory,
That I cry again.
I'm afraid of the encounter
With the past that returns
To face my life.
I am afraid of the nights
That, populated with memories,
Chain my dreaming.
But the traveler who flees,
Sooner or later stops his walk.
And although oblivion, which destroys everything,
Has killed my old illusion,
It keeps hidden a humble hope,
Which is all the fortune of my heart.
Return,
With a withered forehead,
The snows of time
Silver my temple.
To feel,
That life is a breath,
That twenty years is nothing,
How feverish the gaze
Wandering in the shadows
It seeks you and names you.
Live,
With my soul clinging
To a sweet memory,
That I cry again.

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