Paloma brava

You think I'm a lucky wild dove
pecking between your hands
at the bread you offer when you feel like it,
sometimes once a year.

You believe I'm made of stone or snow
that I don't desire the kisses from your mouth
and you think I'm indifferent in love,
that's why you give me so little.

And I'm not
what you think I am;
I'm a wild dove
and to quench my thirst
all the rain is not enough.

That I'm not
what you think I am;
I'm a wild dove
and to quench my thirst
all the rain is not enough.

You think I'm happy with almost nothing
and you're completely wrong;
you have to treat me as God commands
because there's still a lot of woman in this body.

You've got it all wrong, love, from start to finish
by giving me your caresses drop by drop;
maybe it's because my love is too much for you
and on top of that, you waste it around.

And I'm not
what you think I am;
I'm a wild dove
and to quench my thirst
all the rain is not enough.

That I'm not
what you think I am;
I'm a wild dove
and to quench my thirst
all the rain is not enough.