Saint Lucia, for all those who have eyes
and a heart that is not enough for the eyes
and for the tranquility of those who go to sea
and for every tear on your dress,
for those who have not understood.
Santa Lucia for those who drink at night
and die at night and read at night
and fall on their last metre,
for friends who go and they return back
and have lost their soul and wings.
For those who live at the crossroads of the winds
and are burned alive,
for the easy people who have no doubts never,
for our crown of stars and thorns,
for our fear of the dark and of imagination.
Saint Lucia, the violin of the poor is a broken boat
and a little boy on the second floor who sings,
laughs and goes out of tune so that he goes far away,
makes even the rain in his shoes feel sweet,
even loneliness.

ENVIAR CORRECCIONES