Y además
 es tan fácil:
 llega María, acaba el invierno, sale el sol,
 la nieve llora lágrimas de gigante vencido
 y de pronto la puerta no es un error del muro
 y la calma no es cal viva en el alma
 y mis llaves no cierran y abren una prisión.
 
 Es así, tan sencillo de explicar: -Ya no es tarde,
 y si antes escribía para poder vivir,
 ahora
 quiero vivir
 para contarlo.

to burn the ships, 

for someone to tell you: 

"I can only be with you or against me. 

It's never too late to cut the rope, 

to throw the bells back on the fly, 

to drink from that water you weren't going to drink. 

It's never too late to break with everything, 

to stop being a man who can't 

indulge in a past.

And also 

it's so easy: 

Mary arrives, winter ends, the sun rises, 

the snow cries tears of defeated giant 

and suddenly the door is not a mistake of the wall 

and calm is not quicklime in the soul 

and my keys don't close and open a prison. 

It is like this, so simple to explain: -It is no longer late, 

and if before I wrote in order to live, 

now 

I want to live 

to tell it. 

Serene and delicious, 

Shining in the fresh pink meadow 

Splendid and gallant. 

Its colored sheets 

The whiteness of the sun hurts, 

She was the queen of the other flowers, 

It was the flower of my hope. 

The loving breezes rocked her 

Filling his cocoon with perfume, 

Life and color were given, 

I saw her from the meadow

 pride; 

My woes of brokenness

Only she affectionately understood,

How many times my crying

She watered my flower of hope!

I told her my dreams,

The story I explained of my loves,

She happily laughed at my reveries,

And she cried at my unfortunate pains. 

Serena y deliciosa,

Brillar en la pradera fresca rosa

Espléndida y galana.

Sus hojas de colores

Al albo Sol hería,

Era la reina de las otras flores,

Era la flor de la esperanza mía.

Las amorosas brisas la mecieron

Llenando de perfume su capullo,

Vida y color la dieron,

Yo lozana la ví del prado orgullo;

Mis ayes de quebranto

Sólo ella cariñosa comprendía,

¡Cuántas veces mi llanto

Regó la flor de la esperanza mia!

Yo la conté mis sueños,

La historia le expliqué de mis amores,

Ella feliz rió de mis ensueños,

Y lloró desgraciada mis dolores.