Triste Domingo
Triste domingo
Con cien flores blancas
Ami alrrededor, ami alrrededor
Donde mi alma se ha ido a postrar
Mientras mi boca llamándote está
Muere en mi sueños
Cansados de espera y de soledad
Triste domingo
Tu no comprendes la angustia terrible de mi corazon
De estar esperando sin verte llegar
Vuelen tus pasos que debo marchar
Quiero que seas la blanca y piadosa
Mortaja que cubra mi hora final
Triste destino, querido...
Junto a mi ataúd que circundan muchas flores
Espera la confecion un sacerdote
Y a el le digo:
La quiero, la espero
No temas nada si encuentras mis ojos
Sin vida y abiertos y esperandote
Tus manos son quien las deben cerrar
Y acaso entonces yo habré muerto en paz
¡Vuela mi vida tu paso querido
Que llega la hora uque debo partir!
Quiero tenerte en mi viaje final
Y algo me dice que no llegarás
Triste domingo divino
Que ahora en mi tumba yo
¡He de esperar!
Sad Sunday
Sad Sunday
With a hundred white flowers
Around me, around me
Where my soul has gone to bow down
While my mouth is calling you
Die in my dreams
Tired of waiting and loneliness
Sad Sunday
You don't understand the terrible anguish of my heart
Of waiting without seeing you arrive
Your steps fly that I must march
I want you to be the white and merciful
Shroud that covers my final hour
Sad destiny, beloved...
Next to my coffin surrounded by many flowers
A priest awaits the confession
And to him I say:
I love her, I wait for her
Don't be afraid if you find my eyes
Lifeless and open and waiting for you
Your hands are the ones that should close them
And perhaps then I will have died in peace
Fly my life, your dear step
The time has come for me to leave!
I want to have you on my final journey
And something tells me you won't arrive
Sad divine Sunday
That now in my grave
I must wait for!