Tinta Roja

Wall, red ink in yesterday's gray
Your brick emotion happily on my alley
With a blot, painted the corner

And the button that in the width of the night
Put the edge of the round like a brooch
And that carmine mailbox, and that little bar
Where the Italian cried for his distant blonde love
That he wet with good wine

Where will my neighborhood be?
Who stole my childhood?
In what corner, my moon, do you pour out your clear joy as you did back then?
Sidewalks that I walked on, tough guys that are no longer, under your satin sky
A piece of my heart stays up all night

Wall, red ink in yesterday's gray
Gush of my unhappy blood that I spilled
On the geranium of that balcony that hid it

I don't know if it was the black of my sorrows
Or it was the red of your veins, my sangria
Why did it come and go after the carmine
And the distant gray little bar where an Italian cried
His nostalgia for good wine