A Buena Hora (en inglés)

A Buena Hora
A Sunday in autumn, nine o’clock in the evening
Sitting in my room and thinking
What time hides
Looking at the photos, reading your letters
Shouting your name
A Sunday in autumn, nine o’clock in the evening

A few moments ago you called me after so many years
Maybe your conscience and my patience have become allies
You tell me that right now you wish you could be here
By my side, by my side
And I, who even smiled so as not to start crying
You’ve had so much time and you haven’t wanted to come back
A fine time you come and tell me that I’m that person
Who has known how to give you what the heart doesn’t wipe out
Now you’re mistaken
A fine time you come to cure the soul that you left broken
And to change my life because now you feel like it
A fine time
A Sunday in autumn, nine o’clock in the evening
Mother experience has told me not to make do now
Time and the years place one where they should be
What is born pure also gets corrupted

And you, how do you dare to go backwards again
You’ve had so much time, you’d better stay as you are
Allow me to say that
It’s a fine time you come and tell me that I’m that person
Who has known how to give you what the heart doesn’t wipe out
Now you’re mistaken
A fine time you come to cure the soul that you left broken
And to change my life because now you feel like it
A fine time
In a melancholic Sunday evening of autumn, the clock strikes nine as I sit in my room, lost in thought. Memories flood my mind as I gaze at old photographs and read your letters, calling out your name into the quiet room...