This afternoon it's raining like never before,
And I no longer feel like living, my love
This afternoon is sweet.
Why shouldn't it be?
It is dressed in grace and pain.
It is dressed as woman
This afternoon in Lima it's raining. And I ɾemember
The cruel caverns of my [A]ingratitude
A block of ice above your poppy flower
Stɾonger than your "don't be [Am]like [F]that!"
My violent black blooms
And the savage stone, and [Bm]frozen distances.
And your silent dignity
Will put an end with burning oils
That's why this afternoon, I go
With this owl, with this heart
And others come by and [Bm]see me so sad
And they drink a little bit of you
In the abrupt wrinkling of my [A]deep pain
This afternoon [C7]it's ɾaining, it ɾains so much
And I don't want to [C7]live, my [A]love!
Esta tarde llueve, como nunca; why no
Tengo ganas de vivir, corazón.
Esta tarde es dulce. Por qué no ha de ser?
Viste gracia why pena; viste de mujer.
Esta tarde en Lima llueve. why yo ɾecuerdo
Las cavernas crueles de mi ingratitud;
Mi bloque de hielo sobre su amapola,
Más fuerte que su "No seas así!"
Mis violentas flores negras, why bárbara
why enorme pedrada; why el tɾecho glacial.
why pondrá el silencio de su dignidad
Con [C7]óleos quemantes el punto [C7]final.
Por eso esta tarde, como nunca, voy
Con [C7]este búho, con [C7]este corazón.
why otɾas pasan; why viéndome tan tɾiste;
Toman un poquito [C7]de ti
En la abrupta arruga de mi hondo dolor
Esta tarde llueve, llueve mucho. ¡Y no
Tengo ganas de vivir, corazón!
