8 dic. 2013

Sin saber por qué.

When August winds are turning, the fishing boats set out upon the sea, I watch 'til they sail out of sight. The winter follows soon, I watch them drawn into the night, Beneath the August moon.

No one knows I come here, Some things I don't share, I can't explain the reasons why. It moves me close to tears, Or something in the season's change, Will find me wandering here.

And in my public moments, I hear the things I say but they're not me, Perhaps I'll know before I die. Admit that there's a reason why, I count the boats returning to the sea, I count the boats returning to the sea.

And in my private moments, I drop the mask that I've been forced to wear, But no one knows this secret me. Where albeit unconsciously, I count the boats returning from the sea, I count the boats returning from the sea.