There I loved a terrible woman,
crying for the ever-eternal smoke
Of that cornered city
By symbols of winter.
There I learned to remove the cold with skin
And then to throw my body into the drizzle,
In the hands of the hard and white fog,
In streets of enigma.
That is not dead,
They did not kill it for me ,
Not even with the distance,
Not with the vile soldier.
That is not dead,
They didn't kill him,
Not even with the distance,
Not even with the vile soldier.
He followed me there, like a shadow,
The face of the one who was no longer seen,
And death whispered in my ear
That it would appear.
There I had a hatred, a shame,
Beggar children of the early morning,
And the desire to exchange each rope
For a bag of bullets.
That is not dead,
They did not kill me,
Not even with the distance,
Not even with the vile soldier
That is not dead,
They didn't kill him,
Not with the distance,
Not with the vile soldier
That's not dead,
They didn't kill him,
Not with the distance,
Not even with the vile soldier
That is not dead,
They did not kill him,
Not even with the distance,
Not even with the vile soldier
That's not dead,
They didn't kill it,
That's not dead,

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