Endecha del solitario - Alberto Cortez

En qué cabeza cabe, dónde cabe,

pensar que en mi crepúsculo te ame…

En qué cabeza cabe, en qué cabeza cabe.

Pensar que desde aquí, desde mi hastío,

pueda llegar a amarte sin testigos,

pueda ser yo quien dé lo que ha perdido

y merecer así lo inmerecido.

Yo, vacío por dentro y sin más cielo

que el espacio sin límites de un verso,

yo, que nunca sabré si es este vuelo

el de un pájaro azul en el desierto.

En qué cabeza cabe, dónde cabe

pensar que yo, nostálgico, te ame…

En qué cabeza cabe, en qué cabeza cabe.

Suponerte conmigo alucinada

entre una decepción y una esperanza,

ayer he muerto, ayer y no hay mañana,

se ha llenado de invierno ya mi alma.

Si para mí no hay noche sin fantasmas,

un eco en la penumbra y en un sueño,

tu risa en otra risa reclamada,

tu voz en otra voz enamorada.

En qué cabeza cabe, dónde cabe

pensar que yo en un vertigo te ame…

En qué cabeza cabe, en qué cabeza cabe

En qué cabeza cabe, dónde cabe

pensar que yo, sonámbulo, te ame…

En qué cabeza cabe, en qué cabeza cabe.

Perdóname, muchacha, pero es tarde

y ya no tengo nada para darte.

En qué cabeza cabe, en qué cabeza cabe.

En qué cabeza cabe, en qué cabeza cabe.

En qué cabeza cabe, en qué cabeza cabe

In which head does it fit, where does it fit,

to think that in my twilight I loved you...

In which head does it fit, in which head does it fit.

To think that from here, from my boredom,

I can come to love you without witnesses,

May I be the one to give what he has lost

and thus deserve what is undeserved.

I, empty inside and no more sky

than the limitless space of a verse,

I, who will never know if it is this flight

that of a blue bird in the desert.

In which head does it fit, where does it fit

to think that I, nostalgic, love you...

In which head does it fit, in which head does it fit.

Suppose you hallucinated with me

between a disappointment and a hope,

Yesterday I died, yesterday and there is no tomorrow,

It has filled with winter and my soul.

If for me there is no night without ghosts,

an echo in the gloom and in a dream,

your laugh in another claimed laugh,

your voice in another voice in love.

In which head does it fit, where does it fit

to think that I in a vertigo love you...

In which head does it fit, in which head does it fit

In which head does it fit, where does it fit

to think that I, sleepwalking, love you...

In which head does it fit, in which head does it fit.

Forgive me, girl, but it's late

and I no longer have anything to give you.

In which head does it fit, in which head does it fit.

In which head does it fit, in which head does it fit.

In which head does it fit, in which head does it fit