Lyrics and translation Ricardo Abarca feat. Brenda Asnicar - Flor Seca en Tu Cuaderno

Flor Seca en Tu Cuaderno

Deja que en tus manos
La flor se marchite
Disfruta de su hermosura
Mientras existe
No intentes detener ni la risa
Ni el llanto es mejor sentir que te la viviste
Que se haga ceniza
Y se la lleve el viento
Si,, total nada es eterno
Es mejor que la flor se marchite
En tus manos, que flor seca
Entre hojas de tu cuaderno

Atrapo el tiempo como una flor
En un cuaderno todo se detiene
Y se hace eterno la agujas
Del reloj quedan quietas
Y obedientes bajo el conjuro
De no volver a verte
Pasan los años
Pasan los días
Se cansan las horas
En cadenas infinitas
Y los colores y los perfumes
Y las malas facciones se olvidan
Y ya ningún recuerdo tiene vida
Porque transforme en cárcel
A este cuaderno para

Conservarte día a día

Deja que en tus manos
La flor se marchite
Disfruta de su hermosura
Mientras existe
No intentes detener ni la risa
Ni el llanto es mejor sentir que te la viviste
Que se haga ceniza
Y se la lleve el viento
Si, total nada es eterno
Es mejor que la flor se marchite

En tus manos, que flor seca
Entre hojas de tu cuaderno

Entonces un día
De manera casual, impertinente
Al pasar las hojas te me apareces
Y se rompe el castigo de lo eterno
Y regresas como viajante del albergo
A visitarme entre sombras
Y a castigar a quien te ha herido
Con el peor de los castigos
El del olvido porque
No atrape nada entre esas hojas
Queriendo engañar a la naturaleza
Como se me antoja

Con la falsa certeza de que no paso nada
El árbol vivirlo enterrarlo
Hacerlo olvido acá no pasa nada
Acá no pasa nadaaaa ooo
Y aquí estoy

Con la falsa certeza
De que no pasa nada
El árbol vivirlo enterrarlo
Hacerlo olvido acá no pasa nada

Deja que en tus manos
La flor se marchite
Disfruta de su hermosura
Mientras existe
No intentes detener ni la risa
Ni el llanto es mejor sentir que te la viviste
Que se haga ceniza

Y se la lleve el viento
Si, total nada es eterno
Es mejor que la flor se marchite
En tus manos, que flor seca
Entre hojas de tu cuaderno

No cometí el error de acotarte
De vivirte entera de deshojarte
De hacerte MÍA
De caminar todos los caminos
De beber en todas las fuentes en sequía
No me equivoque en ser despedido
En ser generoso imprudente y ansioso irrespetable desbocado
De tu perfume intoxicado
Mantenerte a mi lado
Pa' no reprocharte
Algún día de mi cobardía

Pues pedía sin tenerte pa'
Que fueras solo MIA
Y te tengo a un pero estas en pausa
Ahora la flor es inmortal por mi causa
No respeta ni el color
Ni el aroma, se a convertido falsaaa

Tan solo queda de aquella
Belleza silueta tieza
De lo que a sido y me castiga

Y me recrimina condenarla
A no cumplir su destino
Me enceguece
Como un sol a un albino
No puedo parar de desearla
Me controla los cinco sentidos
Ay ya no quiero mirarla

Deja que en tus manos
La flor se marchite
Disfruta de su hermosura
Mientras existe

No intentes detener ni la risa
Ni el llanto es mejor sentir que te la viviste
Que se haga ceniza
Y se la lleve el viento
Si, total nada es eterno
Es mejor que la flor se marchite
En tus manos, que flor seca
Entre hojas de tu cuaderno

Pa' que quede atrapada
En un libro de recuerdos

Dried Flower in Your Notebook

Let in your hands
The flower wither
Enjoy its beauty
While it exists
Don't try to stop neither the laughter
Nor the cry, it is better to feel that you lived it
Let it become ashes
And be carried away by the wind
Yes, totally, nothing is eternal
It's better for the flower to wither
In your hands, than a dry flower
Among the pages of your notebook

I trap time like a flower
In a notebook everything stops
And it becomes eternal, the needles
Of the clock remain still
And obedient under the spell
Of not seeing you again
The years go by
The days go by
The hours grow tired
In infinite chains
And the colors and perfumes
And bad factions are forgotten
And no memory has life anymore
Because I transformed into a prison
This notebook to

Keep you day by day

Let in your hands
The flower wither
Enjoy its beauty
While it exists
Don't try to stop neither the laughter
Nor the cry, it is better to feel that you lived it
Let it become ashes
And be carried away by the wind
Yes, totally, nothing is eternal
It's better for the flower to wither

In your hands, than a dry flower
Among the pages of your notebook

Then one day
Casually, impertinently
As I turn the pages you appear to me
And the punishment of the eternal is broken
And you return as a traveler from the shelter
To visit me among shadows
And punish the one who has hurt you
With the worst of punishments
That of oblivion because
I didn't catch anything between those pages
Wanting to deceive nature
As I please

With the false certainty that nothing happened
The tree to live it, to bury it
To make it oblivion, nothing happens here
Nothing happens here aaa ooo
And here I am

With the false certainty
That nothing happens
The tree to live it, to bury it
To make it oblivion, nothing happens here

Let in your hands
The flower wither
Enjoy its beauty
While it exists
Don't try to stop neither the laughter
Nor the cry, it is better to feel that you lived it
Let it become ashes

And be carried away by the wind
Yes, totally, nothing is eternal
It's better for the flower to wither
In your hands, than a dry flower
Among the pages of your notebook

I didn't make the mistake of limiting you
Of living you entirely, of defoliating you
Of making you MINE
Of walking all the paths
Of drinking from all the sources in drought
I was not wrong to be fired
In being generous, imprudent, and anxious, disrespectful, outspoken
Intoxicated by your perfume
Keeping you by my side
So as not to reproach you
Someday of my cowardice

Because I asked without having you to
Be only MINE
And I have you, but you are on pause
Now the flower is immortal because of me
It doesn't respect neither the color
Nor the aroma, it has become false

All that remains of that
Beauty, stiff silhouette
Of what has been and punishes me

And reprimands me for condemning her
To not fulfill her destiny
It blinds me
Like a sun to an albino
I can't stop wanting her
It controls my five senses
Oh, I don't want to look at her anymore

Let in your hands
The flower wither
Enjoy its beauty
While it exists

Don't try to stop neither the laughter
Nor the cry, it is better to feel that you lived it
Let it become ashes
And be carried away by the wind
Yes, totally, nothing is eternal
It's better for the flower to wither
In your hands, than a dry flower
Among the pages of your notebook

To be trapped
In a book of memories