Vamos a ir a casa...

With the tune fine tuned
Like coming from a guitar
Made of wood
Air column such filled
As if each string stuck
Struck the air rhythmic...
A perfect evening like a belle
Is happening there, which me tells
You like an Abigail
Come with happiness galore
For the wet streets you meet
They reflect your wet...

With the tune fine tuned
Like coming from your eyes
Made of weeping, frenzied ,beloved sighs,
A perfect evening there your beauty embellishes,
As if you are turned a belle
And your happiness
Telling me everything in whispers of love,
Like an Abigail...

And me then proposes you
To travel Homeward...

And your eyes ,they dance in glee...
And in your heart white -Tabula rasa,
In a singsong manner
me sees a nest of happiness being built...

As me proposes
'Vamos a ir a casa...'

(Note: Abigail = happiness)

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