Buika - Las Simples Cosas - Simple Things

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One says goodbye, insensibly, to small things
Just like a tree
That in autumn time Is left without leaves
In the end sadness is the slow death Of simple things
Those simple things That remain hurting In the heart
One always returns
To the old places where one loved life
And then one understands
How absent the beloved things are
That is why, boy, do not leave now
Dreaming of the return
For love is simple
And time devours simple things
Take time here
In the greater light of this midday
Where you will find
With the bread in the sun, the table spread
That is why, boy, do not leave now
Dreaming of the return
For love is simple
And time devours simple things
One always returns
To the old places where one loved life