Viola Divina

Viola my viola, black wood bridge
I die with you in my arms, on my knees I promise you
Viola my viola of rosewood and cinnamon
In joy or in sadness, I live embraced by it
My divine viola, I make a living with it

The painting of the last supper, has twelve apostles
My viola is not holy, it also has twelve strings
The year has twelve months, the day has twelve hours
The night has twelve hours, tonight is joyful
This divine viola, has already given me what I wanted

I didn't learn to make war in the singing school
Making war is very easy, I want to see making poetry
With this divine viola, I will make a request
For God to kill death, so the singer doesn't die
As long as there is a viola, the singer must live

Even in the year two thousand if only one viola exists
I guarantee it will be mine that won't stop ringing
The singer without a viola, has nothing in his career
My viola is divine, it comes from God's hands
Whoever doesn't like viola, doesn't like God either