Let's Go!

Where will I put my head
this good Friday
if your hands are gone?
Where will I put my single mouth
if your lips aren’t there?

At three in the afternoon
my kiss will be crucified on your absence.
Through it all, what I hate the most
is the crown of my loneliness:
there your name
is supported on thorns.

The hour in which you deny me.

Not three times, but a thousand.

When you return,
a sharp wind of bells
escaping from my chest
will go out to meet you,
widowed of my agony.

It had to be this way with you and me.
You arrived too early.
I came too late,
to our encounter.
Now good friday arrives
with its face in mourning.

A strange cold
extends its wings
in my soul.
In the depths of me
you extinguish yourself

And in spite of everything
I keep on living.