:: Ismael Serrano ::

My love, you ought to know
that I have a black soul
from breathing the smoke of bars
where you should never drink.

There I chased others’ women,
who cried with or for me,
who took me to their places
to let me die.

My love, before anything else you ought to know
that i'm not commendable.
I lacks wings to carry you
but, if you're missing, how could I save myself?

How could I save myself?

My love, there I forgot
that I'm yours, that daylight exists,
that someone would be waiting for me outside,
and where the hell did I park.

I saw you walk by and curse,
and I hid among the street doors
to keep you from cutting yourself
with my brittle failure.

My love, first of all you ought to know
that I'm not commendable.
I lack wings to carry you
but, if you're missing, how could I save myself?

How could I save myself?