This door was opened for you.
This piano trembled with your song.
This table, this mirror and these pictures
keep echoes of the echo of your voice.

It’s so sad to live among memories …
It’s tiresome to hear the murmur
of the subtle rain crying time
about what the heart wanted.

There will be no equal, there will be none,
none with your skin or your voice.
Your skin, magnolia wet by the moon.
Your voice, whisper that warmed the love.

There will be no equal, they all died
the instant you said goodbye.
When I want to get away from the past,
is useless … the heart tells me.

That piano, that table and those pictures
keep echoes of the echo of your voice.
In a blue album are the verses
that your absence covered with loneliness.

It’s the sad ash of remembrance
nothing more than ash, nothing more …

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