Y sin embargo te quiero

They told me a thousand times, but I never wanted to pay attention. When the crying arrived, you were already very deep in my heart. I waited for you until very late, without reproaching you, and all I asked was if you loved me. And under your kisses in the dawn without you noticing the cross of my anxiety used to sing: I love you more than my eyes, I love you more than my life, more than the air I breathe and more than my mare. May my pulses stop if I leave loving you, may the bells ring out if I ever fail you. You are my life and death, I swear it to you, my companion. I shouldn't have loved you, I shouldn't have loved you... and yet, I love you. ...

You know well that you're the first, that I don't lie if I swear I'd give

For you the whole life, for you the whole life;

and yet, for a while, every day, you'd be cheating on me

I'd trade you in for anyone, I'd swap you with anyone.

Not so sorry nor delighted to have known each other, I confess.

You who have kissed me so much, you who have taught me,

Do you know better than me that even bones only fit kisses

What you haven't given, the lips of sin.

Because a house without you is an ambush, the corridor of a midnight train,

a labyrinth
without light nor red wine,
a veil of tar in the gaze.

And they poison the kisses I'm giving and yet when

I sleep without you with you in my dream, and with all of them if they sleep next to me.

If you leave I'll go out through the rooftops like a prostitute without an owner

Lost in the handkerchief of bitterness that veils without staining your beauty.

I shouldn't tell and yet, when I ask for a hotel key

And at midnight I ordered a good French champagne

and dinner with candles for two, always is with someone else, love

Never with you, well you know what I'm saying.

Because a house without you is an office, a burning phone in the booth,

A palm tree in the wax museum, a exodus of dark swallows.

And when you come back there's a party in the kitchen

and dances without orchestra and rose branches with thorns,

but two is not the same as one plus one and Monday morning coffee at breakfast

the cold war returns and your mouth's hell

And into the bedroom, the bread of each day.