Lie seems that after so much broken time our ties
we continue maintaining the illusion in our anniversary.

The same small table that has seen us to hitch
the hands by underneath takes care of that the same
old corner remain reserved.

And although the history was finished there is something
I live in that love that although impelled in blowing there is
you call that neither with the sea.

The flowers of May little by little will yield to the
crow's feet and we will seek us with the eyes by if remains something.

September seven is, It is our anniversary
and we will not know if to kiss us in the face or in the lips.

And although the history was finished there is
something I live in that love that although impelled
in blowing there is you call that neither with the sea.

September seven is our anniversary.