If it is a matter of confessing
I do not know coffee
I do not understand football
I think I was ever unfaithful
bad game to the park
and never use clock
And to be more frank
Nobody thinks of you as I do
even if you're of the same
If it is a matter of confessing
before ten never sleep
I bathe or Sundays
The truth is that it also
I cry once a month
especially when it's cold
With me nothing is easy
you may know
I know well
(And without you everything is so boring)
The sky is tired of seeing
rain fall
And every day that passes is one more
like yesterday
I can not find any way to forget