.Era más blanda que el agua
que el agua blanda
Era más fresca que el rÃo,
naranjo en flor>
Y en esa calle de estÃo,
calle perdida,
dejó un pedazo de vida
y se marchó.
Primero hay que saber sufrir,
después amar, después partir>
y al fin andar sin pens.
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