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  • Joaquin Sabina

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Kisses on the forehead

The goggles and freckles girl,
with complex of chipped doll
rubs her naked body
against the white and silent linen of the pillow.
Invisible among the people.
Damned to be decent, according to the fame
hanged in the neck by those
who never invited her to their bed.
 
When the party ends
everyone finds couple except for Lola
who leaves, without being kissed,
to sleep alone like every night
and a salted tear
with flavor of tenderness marmalade
damps the floor of her room
where a mirror steals her beauty.
 
Nobody knows how burn
in her mouth so many kisses she didn't give,
she has her heart so wide open and so rusted.
Lustful men eyes
that in the last subway look and desire
never look in the cleavage of ugly women.
 
Kisses on the forehead,
Kisses on the forehead they give her;
Kisses on the forehead,
nobody tries to go beyond...
I wanted to try.
 
Me who, in love stuff,
I've never guided by the looks,
I found in her hip
a lust butterfly.
The most explosive ladies
left me frozen in the bed
-"Be careful of stripping me,
don't ruin my hairdo"-
 
Lola understood it well,
by hidden roads she looked for
the water that flows from the dark spring of sin.
And though she left me scarred
like a map of scratches in the back
I never found so much warmth under her skirt,
and I asked her "come with me"
even if the friends say "man, how bad you're going",
sick of so many dull, stupid cuties.
I don't mind the fake beauty like the wise man
who wouldn't trade Paris for his town
and I hold the naked truth of my ugly woman.
 
Kisses on the forehead,
Kisses on the forehead they give her;
Kisses on the forehead,
nobody tries to go beyond...
I wanted to try.
 
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