Alma Ángelina

Sunday is gloomy,
My hours are slumberless.
Dearest, the shadows
I live with are numberless.

Little white flowers
Will never awaken you.
Not where the black coach
Of sorrow has taken you.

Angels have no thought
Of ever returning you.
Would they be angry
If I thought of joining you?

Gloomy Sunday

Dreaming, I was only dreaming.
I wake and I find you asleep
In the deep of my heart, dear.

Darling, I hope that
My dream never haunted you.
My heart is telling you,
How much I wanted you.

Gloomy Sunday