La historia, la versión de Bette Midler, quizá la más popular, la tuya
Some say love, it is a river That drowns the tender reed Some say love, it is a razor That leaves your soul to bleed Some say love, it is a hunger An endless aching need I say love, it is a flower And you, its only seed It’s the heart afraid of breaking That never learns to dance It’s the dream afraid of waking That never takes the chance It’s the one who won’t be taken Who cannot seem to give And the soul, afraid of dying That never learns to live When the night has been too lonely And the road has been too long And you think that love is only for the lucky and the strong Just remember in the winter Far beneath the bitter snow Lies the seed that with the sun’s love, in the spring becomes the rose | El amor no es un río Que inunda al desbordar El amor no es un cuchillo Que tu alma hará sangrar Para mí, tampoco es hambre Ni afán agotador: Tú y yo somos la semilla Y el amor es nuestra flor Con el alma acorazada Jamás podrás bailar Con la mente acobardada Te privas de arriesgar Impidiendo que se acerquen No sabiendo cómo dar Cuando temes a la muerte A vivir no aprenderás Si la cuesta no desciende Ni se acorta tu dolor Si el amor crees que depende De la suerte o del valor Nunca olvides que en invierno Bajo un manto de blancor Late otra primavera Cuyo sol traerá la flor |
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