El Bombero Del Atardecer

This sad ballad that I sing to you
with my clumsy, distant verse,
is the bitter ballad of my situation
far from your side, tired.
How sweet is the memory,
how bitter is the truth,
when everything darkens
without the rhythm of your light.

Seeking the spark of inspiration
in the muses of the third division,
I am the firefighter of the sunset,
with cognac I put out the fire of your love.
Saint Mary, pray for us.
Strange music, take me to the air.
How sweet is the memory,
how bitter is the truth,
when everything darkens
without the rhythm of your light.

I will return to your side
to the uncertain light of a song
and in my confused rhymes
I will awkwardly swear my love,
I will lie.
If the muses flee, I will only dance
eccentric strange dances.
If I remain silent, I will not lie to you
with my bitter, distant ballad.

How sweet is the memory,
how bitter is the truth,
when everything darkens
without the rhythm of your light.
How sweet is the memory,
how bitter is the truth,
when everything darkens
without the rhythm of your light.