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She wasn't dead, she was on other business, strong enough to be honest friends with #hiveopenmic, but as a good son I came back of course with a beautiful theme of the great Silvio Rodríguez named "Ileo de Mujer con Sombrero" one, very famous song of the singer-songwriter who tries to play the sky with the voice and the unique game of guitar make it an exceptional theme, for the 24th week I hope to be to your liking friends.
Una mujer se ha perdido
Conocer el delirio y el polvo,
Se ha perdido esta bella locura
Su breve cintura debajo de mí
Se ha perdido mi forma de amar
Se ha perdido mi huella en su mar,
Veo una luz que vacila
Y promete dejarnos a oscuras,
Veo un perro ladrando a la luna
Con otra figura que recuerda a mí
Veo más, veo que no me halló
Veo más, veo que se perdió
Una mujer innombrable
Huye como una gaviota,
Y yo rápido seco mis botas
Blasfemo una nota y apago el reloj
Qué me tenga cuidado el amor
Que le puedo cantar su canción,
La cobardía es asunto
De los hombres, no de los amantes
Los amores cobardes no llegan a amores
Ni a historias, se quedan allí,
Ni el recuerdo los puede salvar
Ni el mejor orador, conjugar
Una mujer con sombrero
Como un cuadro del viejo Chagall
Corrompiéndose al centro del miedo, y yo
Que no soy bueno, me puse a llorar
Pero entonces lloraba por mí,
Y ahora lloro por verla morir
Pero entonces lloraba por mí
Y ahora lloro por verla morir.
Women's Oil with Hat
Silvio Rodriguez
A woman has been lost
Knowing delirium and dust,
You've missed this beautiful madness
His brief waist below me
My way of loving has been lost
He's lost my mark on his sea,
I see a light that falters
And he promises to leave us in the dark,
I see a dog barking at the moon
With another figure reminiscent of me
I see more, I see you didn't find me
I see more, I see you're lost
An unspeakable woman
Run away like a seagull,
And I quickly dry my boots
I blaspheme a note and turn off the clock
Be careful of love
That I can sing your song to you,
Cowardice is a matter
Of men, not of lovers
Cowardly loves don't come to love
Not even stories, they stay there,
Even memory can't save them
Not even the best speaker, conjugate
A woman in a hat
Like a painting of old Chagall
Corrupting himself to the center of fear, and I
That I'm not good, I started crying
But then he was crying for me,
And now I cry to see her die
But then she was crying for me.
And now I cry to see her die.
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