A the dawn of an ordinary Sunday

I remember the taste of you, sweet in my mouth,

Late in the year.

And in the stillness of the Oriente rainfall

I remember the warmth of you, still in my arms,

Late, late in the year.

I will bring to you flowers in the night

Soft as trembling fingers touch you love,

I can offer you wine and candlelight

Late in the year.

Late in the year.