El Amor
El amor, no es un beso apasionado
No es un dia de fiesta en el calendario
No es dar flores un 14 de febrero
El amor no se marchita
Es un sentimiento eterno
No son prosas con la tinta de tus venas
No es fogata, cuatro ojos, mil estrellas
Frágil rosa de 80 mil toneladas
Tus ojo no marchitaron pero nunca tu mirada
Coro
Son los brazos que se abre al calvario
Son las espinas que hieren su cien
Es esa lanza que hirio su costado
Sus bellos ojos manchados con hiel
Es un madero bañado con sangre
Son esas llagas que adornan su piel
Su bello rostro tan desfigurada
Es el linaje mezclado con amarga hiel
El amor no conoce de fronteras
Ni de razas, de culturas, ni banderas
No es un acto ante los hombres
Es una aptitud ante el cielo
No son prosas con la tinta de tus venas
No es fogata, cuatro ojos, mil estrellas
Frágil rosa de 80 mil toneladas
Tus ojo no marchitaron pero nunca tu mirada
Coro
Son los brazos que se abre al calvario
Son las espinas que hieren su cien
Es esa lanza que hirio su costado
Sus bellos ojos manchados con hiel
Es un madero bañado con sangre
Son esas llagas que adornan su piel
Su bello rostro tan desfigurada
Es el linaje mezclado con amarga hiel
Love
Love is not a passionate kiss
It's not a holiday on the calendar
It's not giving flowers on February 14
Love does not wither
It's an eternal feeling
It's not prose with the ink of your veins
It's not a bonfire, four eyes, a thousand stars
Fragile rose of 80 thousand tons
Your eyes did not wither but never your gaze
Chorus
They are the arms that open to the calvary
They are the thorns that hurt his forehead
It's that spear that wounded his side
His beautiful eyes stained with gall
It's a wood bathed in blood
They are those wounds that adorn his skin
His beautiful face so disfigured
It's the lineage mixed with bitter gall
Love knows no borders
Nor races, cultures, nor flags
It's not an act before men
It's an attitude before heaven
It's not prose with the ink of your veins
It's not a bonfire, four eyes, a thousand stars
Fragile rose of 80 thousand tons
Your eyes did not wither but never your gaze
Chorus
They are the arms that open to the calvary
They are the thorns that hurt his forehead
It's that spear that wounded his side
His beautiful eyes stained with gall
It's a wood bathed in blood
They are those wounds that adorn his skin
His beautiful face so disfigured
It's the lineage mixed with bitter gall