As if my heart were
A Hungarian tambourine,
You beat among your scorn
My infantile illusion
And began to forget my own song
Making me crazily suffer.
Me that had tied my body
To your spirit,
As if were Arabic letters
Bound one to another.
But your awful indifference
Smashed in my chest
When I loved you
And the din that took place
The disillusion that you provided me
In my human soul that loved you,
Made me suffer.
Because without compassion
As a Hungarian tambourine
You beat my heart
Among your hands.
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