Que me importa
el Calvario
Si amarte es sufrir, o que juegues con cartas marcadas.
Lo que importa es las noches pasadas en ti,
Si amarte es sufrir, o que juegues con cartas marcadas.
Lo que importa es las noches pasadas en ti,
Aunque a cambio
me rompas el alma.
?Que me importa la vida!
?De que sirve vivir, si me falta tu cuerpo caliente?
Lo que importa es tocarte
Y apagar esta sed, que tan solo me apaga tu fuente.
Que sin ti nada tiene valor,
Y por eso soy tuyo, esclavo y senor.
Cosas del amor, cosas de la vida:
Tu eres mi aguila real, yo soy tu gacela herida.
Cosas de tu carne, cosas de tu piel,
Que me arrastra por las olas como barco de papel.
Cosas del amor, cosas de la vida:
Tu me haces el dolor y me curas las heridas.
Cosas de tu cuerpo, cosas de mi voz
Predicando en el desierto de tu absurdo corazon.
?Para que quiero aire si respiro de ti?
?Para que quiero luz ni ventanas?
Si me basta sentirte amarrada a mi piel,
Y saber que a tu modo me amas.
Que me importa esperarte
Una y mil veces mas si al final tu me inundas el tiempo.
Lo que importa es mirarte en silencio y saber
Que tal vez sin tenerte te tengo.
Que sin ti nada tiene valor,
?Que me importa la vida!
?De que sirve vivir, si me falta tu cuerpo caliente?
Lo que importa es tocarte
Y apagar esta sed, que tan solo me apaga tu fuente.
Que sin ti nada tiene valor,
Y por eso soy tuyo, esclavo y senor.
Cosas del amor, cosas de la vida:
Tu eres mi aguila real, yo soy tu gacela herida.
Cosas de tu carne, cosas de tu piel,
Que me arrastra por las olas como barco de papel.
Cosas del amor, cosas de la vida:
Tu me haces el dolor y me curas las heridas.
Cosas de tu cuerpo, cosas de mi voz
Predicando en el desierto de tu absurdo corazon.
?Para que quiero aire si respiro de ti?
?Para que quiero luz ni ventanas?
Si me basta sentirte amarrada a mi piel,
Y saber que a tu modo me amas.
Que me importa esperarte
Una y mil veces mas si al final tu me inundas el tiempo.
Lo que importa es mirarte en silencio y saber
Que tal vez sin tenerte te tengo.
Que sin ti nada tiene valor,
Y por eso soy
tuyo esclavo y senor.
Cosas del amor, cosas de la vida:
Tu eres mi aguila real, yo soy tu gacela herida.
Cosas de tu carne, cosas de tu piel,
Que me arrastra por las olas como barco de papel
Cosas del amor, cosas de la vida:
Tu me haces el dolor y me curas las heridas.
Cosas de tu cuerpo, cosas de mi voz
Predicando en el desierto de tu absurdo corazon.
Cosas del amor, cosas de la vida:
Tu eres mi aguila real, yo soy tu gacela herida.
Cosas de tu carne, cosas de tu piel,
Que me arrastra por las olas como barco de papel
Cosas del amor, cosas de la vida:
Tu me haces el dolor y me curas las heridas.
Cosas de tu cuerpo, cosas de mi voz
Predicando en el desierto de tu absurdo corazon.
Things of Love
What does the Calvary matter if to love you is to suffer
Or that you play with marked cards
What matters are the nights
Spent with you, even if in return you tear my soul
What do I care about life?
What's the point of living if I don't have your hot body?
What matters is to touch you and to quench this thirst,
that only your fountain quenches for me.
Without you nothing has value,
And for that I'm yours, slave and gentleman
Things of love, things of life
You are my golden eagle
And I'm your injured gazelle
Things of your flesh, things of your skin
That drags me through the waves, like a paper boat
Things of love, things of life
You cause me pain and you heal my wounds
Things of your body, things of my voice
Preaching in the desert about your absurd heart
Why do I want air if I breath of you?
Why do I want light or windows if to feel you on my skin is enough
And to know that you love me anyway
What does it matter to wait for you a
Thousand and one more times
If in the end you eliminate the time
What matters is to see you
In silence and to know
That perhaps without having you
I have you.
That without you nothing has value
And that's why I'm yours, slave and gentleman
Things of love, things of life
You are my golden eagle
And I'm your injured gazelle
Things of your flesh, things of your skin
That drags me through the waves
Like a paper boat
Things of love, things of life
You cause me pain and you, heal my wounds
Things of your body, things of my voice
Preaching in the desert, about your absurd heart
What does the Calvary matter if to love you is to suffer
Or that you play with marked cards
What matters are the nights
Spent with you, even if in return you tear my soul
What do I care about life?
What's the point of living if I don't have your hot body?
What matters is to touch you and to quench this thirst,
that only your fountain quenches for me.
Without you nothing has value,
And for that I'm yours, slave and gentleman
Things of love, things of life
You are my golden eagle
And I'm your injured gazelle
Things of your flesh, things of your skin
That drags me through the waves, like a paper boat
Things of love, things of life
You cause me pain and you heal my wounds
Things of your body, things of my voice
Preaching in the desert about your absurd heart
Why do I want air if I breath of you?
Why do I want light or windows if to feel you on my skin is enough
And to know that you love me anyway
What does it matter to wait for you a
Thousand and one more times
If in the end you eliminate the time
What matters is to see you
In silence and to know
That perhaps without having you
I have you.
That without you nothing has value
And that's why I'm yours, slave and gentleman
Things of love, things of life
You are my golden eagle
And I'm your injured gazelle
Things of your flesh, things of your skin
That drags me through the waves
Like a paper boat
Things of love, things of life
You cause me pain and you, heal my wounds
Things of your body, things of my voice
Preaching in the desert, about your absurd heart
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