Again a sleepless sigh hides somewhere in the night; like something unwanted, with cold eyes you follow my skin.
If I try to reveal my perplexity I always betray (reveal) a contradiction; finished decisions and resolutions are lost, [and] I hurt my love.
Without wanting an escape or intending to be set free, my heart is simply obsessed by that averted gaze; so
with a hand that trembles with loneliness, it would be better to kill [my own] heart instead. If nothing at all can be done, then I won't regret a single thing.
Why is it that unfinished illusions leave behind nothing but pain? If, refusing strength, I am utterly swayed, fleeting disobedience saves me.
If there's another trembling sigh, it freezes me again; there's always an ambush of hesitation. The thirst of lips that are forced to be silent torments love.
If I hold you tightly, if I break down, although it feels like the same crime, through utter cowardice I'm imprisoned by passion.
With a hand engulfed in futility it would be better to kill [my own] heart instead. If nothing at all can be done, then I won't regret a single thing.
With a hand that trembles with loneliness, it would be better to kill [my own] heart instead. If nothing at all can be done, then I won't regret a single thing.
Again a sleepless sigh hides somewhere in the night; like something unwanted, with cold eyes you follow my skin.
If I try to reveal my perplexity I always betray (reveal) a contradiction; finished decisions and resolutions are lost, [and] I hurt my love.
Without wanting an escape or intending to be set free, my heart is simply obsessed by that averted gaze; so
with a hand that trembles with loneliness, it would be better to kill [my own] heart instead. If nothing at all can be done, then I won't regret a single thing.
Why is it that unfinished illusions leave behind nothing but pain? If, refusing strength, I am utterly swayed, fleeting disobedience saves me.
If there's another trembling sigh, it freezes me again; there's always an ambush of hesitation. The thirst of lips that are forced to be silent torments love.
If I hold you tightly, if I break down, although it feels like the same crime, through utter cowardice I'm imprisoned by passion.
With a hand engulfed in futility it would be better to kill [my own] heart instead. If nothing at all can be done, then I won't regret a single thing.
With a hand that trembles with loneliness, it would be better to kill [my own] heart instead. If nothing at all can be done, then I won't regret a single thing.