And I smoke at night next to the noise
of the streets full of stories,
the eyelids, like patients,
no longer offer resistance
and the cats make love. ..
I don't think about you,
I think about you,
about you.
And some boring dog barks
as always when the shadow falls,
All my bones hurt,
and an indiscreet tear
warns me that I'm crying...
I don't think about you,
I think about you,
about you.
The air exudes the smell of a niche
and the smell of smoke and the smell of rope,
I'm burning my fingers
and the cats don't notice
and a dog licks my hand...
I don't think about you,
I think about you,
about you.

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