El Viejo Comunista

An old man who used to be a communist sits down to smoke the whole afternoon
While good rain falls outside
With a naked voice, the old man thinks
Why do gray doves coincide in his window with the sorrow he used to smoke?
Gray doves with the sorrow he used to smoke?

His eyes turn to a distant day
When to a book, a verse, a girl, a thought
When to a book, a verse, a girl, a thought
He believes nothing surprises him anymore, that he's cured of fear, worn out the tears
Cured of fear, worn out the tears

He remembered songs he used to sing
And conversations with friends until dawn
And conversations with friends until dawn
He remembered the corner of his house
When he said goodbye and saw his mother crying
When he said goodbye and saw his mother crying
And now in his eyes it also rains
Because he's surprised that he still feels pain
The years, life, his love
The years, life, his love

Oh, oh, it still hurts him, oh, oh, it still hurts him, oh
Oh, it still hurts him, oh, oh, it still hurts him