This song, it´s difficult to understand because the song it´s like a poetry, since, the singer used too much the metaphor. But, I hope that like you, because it´s the way most sweet of to say "goodbye" to one love that we need leave behind. And the singer express him without hate neither bitter, only with love and melancholy.

Esta canción, es difícil de entender porque la canción es como una poesía, ya que el cantante utiliza mucho la metáfora. Sin embargo, espero que te guste, porque es la forma más dulce de decir "adiós" a un amor que necesitamos dejar atrás. Y el cantante lo expresa sin odio ni amargura, sólo con amor y melancolía.

(SPANISH)

NOS SOBRAN LOS MOTIVOS, JOAQUÍN SABINA

Este adiós, no maquilla un "hasta luego",
este nunca, no esconde un "ojalá",
estas cenizas, no juegan con fuego,
este ciego, no mira para atrás.
Este notario firma lo que escribo,
esta letra no la protestaré,
ahórrate el acuse de recibo
estas vísperas, son las de después.
A este ruido, tan huérfano de padre
no voy a permitirle que taladre
un corazón, podrido de latir
este pez ya no muere por tu boca
este loco se va con otra loca
estos ojos no lloran más por ti.

Esta sala de espera sin esperanza,
estas pilas de un timbre que se secó,
este helado de fresa de la venganza,
esta empresa de mudanzas,
con los muebles del amor.
Esta campana muda en el campanario,
esta mitad partida por la mitad,
estos besos de Judas, este calvario,
este look de presidiario,
esta cura de humildad.
Este cambio de acera de tus caderas,
estas ganas de nada, menos de ti,
este arrabal sin grillos en primavera,
ni espaldas con cremallera,
ni anillos de presumir.
Esta casita de muñecas de alterne,
este racimo de pétalos de sal,
este huracán sin ojo que lo gobierne,
este jueves, este viernes,
y el miércoles que vendrá.
No abuses de mi inspiración,
no acuses a mi corazón
tan maltrecho y ajado
que está cerrado por derribo.
Por las arrugas de mi voz
se filtra la desolación
de saber que estos son
los últimos versos que te escribo,
para decir "con Dios" a los dos
nos sobran los motivos.
Este museo de arcángeles disecados,
este perro andaluz sin domesticar,
este trono de príncipe destronado,
esta espina de pescado,
esta ruina de Don Juan.
Esta lágrima de hombre de las cavernas,
esta horma del zapato de Barba Azul,
que poco rato dura la vida eterna,
por el túnel de tus piernas,
entre Córdoba y Maipú.
Esta guitarra cínica y dolorida,
con su terco "knock knockin' on heaven's door",
estos labios que saben a despedida,
a vinagre en las heridas
a pañuelo de estación.
Este Land Rover aparcado en tus dudas,
la rueca de Penélope en el Luna Park,
estos dedos que sueñan que te desnudan,
esta caracola viuda
sin la pianola del mar.

(ENGLISH)

WE REASONS LEFT OVER, JOAQUÍN SABINA

This goodbye, doesn't make-up a "I´ll see you later",
this never, doesn't hide a "hopefully",
these ashes, doesn´t play with fire,
this blind, doesn´t look back.
This notary, firm I write it,
this letter, I won´t protest it,
save yourself acknowledgment of receipt,
these eves, are the of after.
To this noise so orphan of father,
I won´t allow to drill,
a heart, rotten of throb
this fish won´t already die by you mouth,
this crazy, go with other mad,
these eyes, don´t cry more for you.

This hopeless waiting room,
these batteries of a bell that dried,
this strawberry ice-cream of revenge,
this moving company,
with the furniture of love.
This mute bell on the bell tower,
this half, broken by half,
these kisses of Judas, this ordeal,
this look of convict,
this cure of humility.
This changing of paviment your hips,
this desire of nothing, less of you,
this suburb without crickets in spring,
neither backs with zip,
nor rings to show off.
This dolls´s house of alterne,
this bunch of petals of salt,
this hurricane without eye that governs it,
this Thursday, this Friday,
and Wednesday that will come.
You don´t abuse of my inspiration,
you don´t accuse my heart,
so battered, and wizened,
that is closed, by knocking down,
By voice´s wrinkle, filter the desolation,
of know that these are last verses that I write you,
to say "with God" to the two
reasons left over.
This museum of stuffed archangels,
this Andalusian dog without domesticate,
this throne of dethroned prince,
this fishbone,
this ruin of "Don Juan"***.
This tear of caveman,
this mold of the shoe of "Bluebeard"***,
how little lasts the eternal life,
by the tunnel of your legs,
between Cordova and Maipú***,
This cynic and sorrowing guitar,
with its stubborn "knock knockin' on heaven's door"
this lips that taste to farewell,
to vinegar in the hurts,
to handkerchief of station.
These Land Rover parked in your doubts,
Penelope's spinning wheel*** at Luna Park,
these fingers dream that undress you,
This widow conch,
without the pianola the sea.

"Don Juan"***: Don Juan is used synonymously for "womanizer", especially in Spanish slang.

"Bluebeard"***: It´s a French literary folktale, the most famous surviving version of which was written by Charles Perrault. The tale tells the story of a violent nobleman in the habit of murdering his wives and the attempts of one wife to avoid the fate of her predecessors. Gilles de Rais, a 15th-century aristocrat and prolific serial killer, has been suggested as the source for the character of Bluebeard.

Maipú***: It´s a partido located in the central eastern part of Buenos Aires Province in Argentina. The singer spent this song to her Argentina ex girlfriend. He singer, lived in Cordova, that´s why he say "between Cordova and Maipú"

Penelope***: It´s a character in the Odyssey, one of the two great epic poems attributed to Homer. She is represented with a spinning wheel because she knit. Luna Park it´s a indoor stadium in the city of Buenos Aires (Argentina).

SONG´S LINK IN SPANISH:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ysHnxUuwQUE