How do you tell the beautiful person,

That is my little brother

That his once friend is never coming back?

 

Tati, y Fyank viene ahora?

I stay silent because I’ve said

No, no viene más

And he couldn’t comprehend.

 

Who would ignore this little guy,

Who freely gives love to all?

The number of times he’s taken his hand,

Kissed it and told him I love you,

Has been too many to count.

 

The number of times I’ve given my love,

Were too many to count,

To face such betrayal right after crying on my shoulder.

 

My brother calls out his name,

Everyday asking when he’s coming back,

He makes it harder to forget,

And makes it harder to forgive.

 

Why is pride so ugly?

Ask him.

I’ll never know.