Bodas de plata

You're like a calendar,
A bit eccentric,
Antique object
Carved in ivory.

That innocent face,
Apparent decency,
More like trickery,
More like lack of love,
Your guilty conscience
That finally broke free.

You speak like a great prophet
Towards the plateau,
With airs of a leader
You decide yes or no,
With airs of a leader
You never ask for forgiveness.