El Manantial
Pablo Milanés
The Spring
Oh, love, you're leaving
Like a fleeting bird
And the feathers you leave
Where you nested.
Oh, love, you're leaving
Hoping to find
What you've never found
And never will.
There was a road dead for years
And the pain of being a road
And not being able to walk,
It was tied to a cruel fate
Of waiting, of waiting.
And then a spring arrived
A young stream of love
And it started to water what had died.
Neither love, nor the scent
Of fresh water of love
Could stop what happened.
There was a road dead for years
And the pain of being a road
And not being able to walk,
It was tied to a cruel fate
Of waiting, of waiting.
And then a spring arrived
A young stream of love
And it started to water what had died.
Neither love, nor the scent
Of fresh water of love
Could stop what happened.
The spring dried up,
The road died.
