It begins with anguish that doesn't end,
it's as if a stopped the air and the reason of life

Loneliness again occupies its rightful place,
its our companion in silence and our sensitivity cries

Suddenly the motives cease and we lack of motivations,
the mirror of sadness turn the heart into glasses

It leaves us one conviction of trial of guilt,
prisoner of pain and endless sentence

Love is conjugate as a an irregular verb,
minus first...