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You who despair
To experience misery
Of our four seasons
Stop your walk there
Get down, pass the arch
From this immense bridge
The fifth season
There is always an angel
A spare angel
To offer you a radius
Take his hand and run
With him towards the star
Towards your resurrection
Your fifth season
Soldier of the great wars
On these strange lands
From the end of the horizon
One day, intelligence
Will put you on vacation
Will rust your cannons
The fifth season
Let the music
Liturgical organs
Until the accordion
Let the music
Chopin is in the clique
Brahms on bandoneon
The fifth season
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