Old songs, hippie dreams,
Unbroken Beatle’s tracks from the port and spring.
Everything that we have loved is from that season,
That is where we froze, like flies in amber.
Old songs, another movie,
Every year it gets better, just like old wine.
And it is these songs that are the breath of those nights.
And if anyone hears them, they remember every memory.
Let go of your flares,
and pour a glass of old port wine.
In these old songs,
Is part of your soul,
In these three cords,
In these old cords,
But their sound,
Will be like the first time.
Old songs. (Songs) that time is yet to conquer.
(Songs) I’m certain our children would not sing.
Everything that we loved will stay here,
Together with us,
Together with us and death.
Let go of your flares,
and pour a glass of old port wine
In these old songs,
Is part of your soul,
In these three cords,
In these old cords,
But their sound,
Will be like the first time.
Open to suggestions to improve the translation