How many nights I’ve wandered through life’s streets,
without a cigarette, without a dime, without her love;
and burning in my chest the torment of a wound,
how many nights I became a puppet of memory and resentment!
Many times, I told myself: why keep on living?,
why keep on suffering if she’ll never return?
The more I try to forget her, the more I feel her and the more I love her;
though she doesn’t care, nor will she ever remember me.
For her!…
I was for her…
what she wanted me to be!
Living in blindness,
I didn’t care what I became.
Everything!…
I was everything!…
and I dragged myself so,
that I sunk my life in the mud,
why?… for loving her this way!
I know well that this madness of living for the memory
serves me for nothing, nor can bring her back;
but useless to forget her, the more I try, the more I remember;
though I know I’m dreaming of what can never be.
Many nights, lonely, through the streets I’ve wandered
with the cross of bitterness, suffering for her love;
without a cigarette, without a dime, shattered,
I don’t know what I would have given to return to that yesterday!