Señor Del Aire

When I pass by your street
I stop in front of your window
And my throat tightens

And there I begin to sing to you
And your face appears
And the scent of jasmine
That Cali face
And the shadow of black hair
And your balconies adorn
The arachi cries bitterly

Born Mr. Air
I go with my linen suit
We are three good friends
I walk until I find him
We see the brunette women pass by
Selling coffee
If one day I knew
And one day I will know
I want to find a way
Oh, to caress your skin