This goodbye doesn't mask a see you later
This never doesn't hide a hopefully
These ashes don't play with fire
This blind man doesn't look back
This notary signs what I write
I won't protest this letter
Save yourself the receipt acknowledgment
These eves are the ones after
To this noise so orphaned of a father
I'm not going to allow it to drill
A heart rotten from beating
This fish no longer dies for your mouth
This madman is leaving with another madwoman
These eyes no longer cry for you

This waiting room without hope
These batteries of a bell that dried up
This strawberry ice cream of revenge
This moving company
With the furniture of love

This Moorish bell in the bell tower
This half split in half
These kisses of Judas, this calvary
This prisoner look
This humility cure

This change of sidewalk of your hips
These desires for nothing less than you
This slum without crickets in spring
No backs with zippers
No rings to show off

This dollhouse of alternate
This bunch of salt petals
This hurricane without eyes to govern it
This Thursday, this Friday
And the Wednesday that will come

Don't abuse my inspiration
Don't accuse my heart
So battered and worn
That it's closed for demolition

Through the wrinkles of my voice
The desolation filters
Knowing that these are
The last verses I write to you
To say "with God" to both
We have too many reasons

This museum of dissected archangels
This Andalusian dog without taming
This throne of dethroned prince
This fishbone
This ruin of Don Juan

This tear of caveman
This shoe last of Bluebeard
How short the eternal life lasts
Through the tunnel of your legs
Between Cordoba and Maipu

This cynical and pained guitar
With its stubborn knock, knockin' on heaven's door
These lips that taste like goodbye
To vinegar in the wounds
To station handkerchief

This thief parked in your toga
Penelope's spinning wheel in Luna Park
These fingers that dream of undressing you
This widowed seashell
Without the sea's pianola

Don't abuse my inspiration
Don't accuse my heart
So battered and worn
That it's closed for demolition

Through the wrinkles of my voice
The desolation filters
Knowing that these are
The last verses I write to you

Don't abuse my inspiration
Don't accuse my heart
So battered and worn
That it's closed for demolition

Through the wrinkles of my voice
The desolation filters
Knowing that these are
The last verses I write to you
To say "with God" to both
We have too many reasons

CONSULTER LES PAROLES ORIGINALES