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What are you waiting for?
Oh, poor Pinga amor,
you are as lonely as a beach on a stormy day
The turmoil inside you is relentless and ravenous
You go through life as a hummingbird, going from flower to flower
always searching always yearning
You drink the flower sweet nectar,
and you get inebriated by her sweet taste and her power,
the power you give and receive
Inebriated enough to talk about friendship, lust and love
You then build with the flower a new world, intoxicated,
with your beak feasting on that sweet nectar,
Consuming her, till the last drop she has to give you
But the flower has abysses of her own,
has a stem with lingering thorns
Has roots, oh the roots, the source of her power
and her essence
Where she hides a tempestuous
and immensurable a sea of her own
But those don't entice the hummingbird,
and if a flower takes his hand to show him her stem,
roots and her sea, he will drown ...lost once again.
Soon he will have his eyes on another flower,
her sweet nectar and vibrant petals
Because this is the essence of the hummingbird,
inconstant, frivolous and lecherous.
