Las seis cuerdas... La guitarra hace llorar a los suenos. El sollozo de las almas perdidas se escapa por su boca redonda. Y como la tarántula, teje una gran estrella para cazar suspiros, que flotan en su negro aljibe de madera.

The Six Strings

The guitar
makes dreams weep.
The sobs of lost
souls
escape through its round
mouth.
And like the tarantula
it weaves a large star
to trap the sighs
floating in its black
wooden cistern.

Whenever I die
bury me with my guitar
beneath the sand.

Whenever I die
among my guitar's
and songs.

Whenever I die,
bury me if you wish 
in a weather vane.

Whenever I die!
Don't bury my 
Guitar...