When words become commonplace And I will habitually repeat them, And I myself, perhaps, will stop believing, That you can feel these feelings.
And words about love, a common product, The usual trill will begin to fly from the lips, And I will cease to feel with my skin How am I to you, oh my happiness, love, Then, probably, not pretending to be.
Who has always been honest Tell myself that I'm not worth you That old age has imperceptibly approached, That I'm not the one I could When is it that you, dear, love, And to whom did you manage to instill a feeling, With which he could live happily So many years, happy and beautiful Filled with love and warmth To whom I gave so much happiness And she was able to fill the house with joy.
What do you do, you have no control over time, A man lives in this world But, if he received a drop of happiness, That means that he did not live his life in vain.
