Segundas partes entre suicidas [English translation]

It's a whim evening all alone,

I call you, you choose to answer,

you forgot quickly what your true friends told you...

That the girl you used to go out with is

missing screws while dancing,

breaking her six strings while singing,

tying her sanity while walking.

Along the way of the rush while singing

every note she improvises without thinking

that not even the radio tunes this channel

of an unseasoned song.

And what a disaster farewells are,

when they end up in hidden lover kisses,

because they consume like a cigar butt

when only the humble ash remains.

Relapses are fake,

second parts among suicides.

There's always a coward disguised as a harpy

who will love the other without mercy or measure.

It's a Sunday and stormy evening.

I won't write you, because I know someone else will.

It's 7 pm and you're on your way to the cinema if you haven't gone crazy yet.

That girl who one day

went to kill your thousand demons with her sword

awaits submissive in front of your hallway,

tying her sanity while walking.

Along the way of the rush while singing

every note she improvises without thinking

that not even the radio tunes this channel

of an unseasoned song.

And what a disaster farewells are,

when they end up in hidden lover kisses,

because they consume like a cigar butt

when only the humble ash remains.

Relapses are fake,

second parts among suicides.

There's always a coward disguised as a harpy

who will love the other without mercy or measure.

And what a disaster farewells are,

when they end up behind bars in a police station,

because two lost souls get mixed up

when there's only a furtive night remaining.

Relapses are fake,

second parts among suicides.

I might be coward, even if I won't tell you,

and in the shape of a verse I might write it to you.