Several days have gone by without you.
Where did you go? Where did you hide from me?
I knife stars and people scream to see,
full of sorrow, that I tore out my heart.
I told you: "In your absence I will look after Madrid,
for I will be well" and here I lied.
I review all the places, pain turns me into salt.
The streets of Huertas1 where drunken she shouted
my name on the counters of the bars where I loved her.
The war on her body, it feels like yesterday.
Exhausted, soaked in alcohol and in her absence,
bleeding the wound that this waiting has opened,
shouting: "Where are you, blonde? Return".
