the cicada

don't sing to me anymore

cicada

let your singsong end

for your song

here in the soul

stabs me like a dagger

knowing that when you sing

you are proclaiming that you are

going to your death

sailor

sailor

tell me if it is true that you know

because i cannot distinguish

if in the depth of the seas

there is another color blacker

than the color of my sorrows. a little dove upon flying

bearing a wounded breast

was about to cry

and told me very afflicted

i'm tired of searching for

a mutual love. under the shade of a tree

and to the beat of my guitar

i sing this huapango" happily