2018.05.24.
Saint Barbara, who will tell me
I still have on my skin, the sweetness of your handsThat would land on me
I again see the morning, your body against mine
To Saint Barbara
The blue waves of the Pacific
Erased on the sand, our footprints [lit. 'the trace of our steps.']
The romantic beach ended
You took some son, and now I'm cold
Saint Barbara, who will tell me
Why am I tired of living?
Saint Barbara, I do not know
I go, like a drunk boat
Carrying my memories
In the wooden house, float a scent of you
That I recognized well
Sometimes I have the impression, that you're still here
But never do you come
The scorching wind of the Pacific
Could take far away, our craziest dreams
I still have this music
That we would sing together, she is only ours
Saint Barbara, who will tell me
Why am I tired of living?
Saint Barbara, I do not know
I go, like a drunk boat
Carrying my memories
Memories
The sweetness of your hands
Your body against mine
And this scent of you
In the wooden house!
Saint Barbara, who will tell me
Why am I tired of living?
Saint Barbara, I do not know
I go, like a drunk boat
Carrying my memories
Saint Barbara, who will tell me
Why am I tired of living?