Temps De Pluja
Qualsevol dia al capvespre darrere de la finestra sents el seu alè de tardor, trist i dolç és com un plor que el vent ens acosta i que truca a la porta. Ell seu a taula, el sents allí, no li cal dir una paraula, per saber que ha arribat al fi el temps de pluja, temps d'estimar-se a mitja veu, de collir el que van llençar a tot arreu, és el temps de pluja.
Cal tornar a buidar l'armari mentre els fulls del calendari van caient sense fer soroll, d'oblidar la barca al moll, quan mai no s'acaba l'amor ni l'estimada. Ell seu a taula, el sents allí, no li cal dir una paraula, per saber que ha arribat al fi el temps de pluja, temps d'estimar-se a mitja veu, de collir el que van llençar a tot arreu, és el temps de pluja. A prop del foc, per a tots dos hi ha lloc.
Rainy Days
Any day at dusk behind the window, you feel its breath of autumn, sad and sweet like a cry that the wind brings close and knocks on the door. He sits at the table, you feel him there, no need to say a word, to know that the rainy days have come to an end, a time for quiet love, to gather what was thrown everywhere, it's the rainy days.
Gotta empty the closet again while the pages of the calendar fall silently, forgetting the boat at the dock, when love never ends nor does the beloved. He sits at the table, you feel him there, no need to say a word, to know that the rainy days have come to an end, a time for quiet love, to gather what was thrown everywhere, it's the rainy days. By the fire, there's room for both of us.