Ninguna

This door opened for your passage.
This piano trembled with your song.
This table, this mirror and these pictures
hold echoes of the echo of your voice.
It is so sad to live among memories...
It's so tiring to listen to that murmur
of the subtle rain that cries the time
over what the heart wanted.

There won't be any equal, there won't be any,
none with your skin or your voice.
Your skin, magnolia that wet the moon.
Your voice, murmur that warmed love.
There will be none equal, they all died
the moment you said goodbye.

When I want to get away from the past,
it's useless... my heart tells me.
That piano, that table and those paintings
keep echoes of the echo of your voice.
In a blue album are the verses
that your absence covered with loneliness.
It is the sad ashes of memory
nothing more than ashes, nothing more...