I know I want my hair to be gold springs,
I know I want my eyes to be shooting stars.
I know you want the pain to be a glass of water,
to offer you a woman.
filled last cup, you bring it to me,
but let it be your tears.
you know that my hair is not golden springs,
you know that in my eyes you will see tears falling.
you know that love in me is fire, ardor and zest,
not I donate to anyone gentlemen.