Ya estamos iguales

My night is your night,
my cry your cry;
my hell your hell.
It twists us in its knots
the same deep and eternal
deep and eternal.
It is certain that one day
your mouth, the false one,
laughed at me;
but today another laugh, crueler
and colder
laughs at you.
Life laughs,
that in the long run
the evil deeds;
that enlarges the wound
that breaks and embitters,
that suffocates hopes,
that to you, who sought
happiness in heights
that I did not reach,
so repentant of that
adventure throws you before me.

My night is your night, my cry your cry.
You thought you had killed the past with a fierce slash,
and it was not dead, and it rises in its grave;
it is pointing at you, it names you, it accuses you with all its voice.
It steals your calm, it covers you with mourning,
it denies you oblivion, it screams at you in your horro;
soulless beauty, statue of ice,
for thirty bucks you sold love...

We are already the same.
Already in you hoarse echoes
will have my laments.
The seven daggers
the seven daggers
of remorse,
and I know that you would like
with these spoils
of old chimeras
to remake the romance
of the springs
that return no more.
Useless endeavor;
if I am a defeated man,
without longing or dreams
and you a grotesque
passion of a grotesque
of mocking farce.
There are no more than shadows,
endure the sorrow,
endure the brokenness
and washes away with tears
the tremendous guilt.
if you know how to cry.