With their winter portals

The foggy paths know how to keep secrets,

with their mournful lament,

they relate unfortunate desires,

while the moon hides,

the fog spreads with fickleness,

colliding with the winter portals.

The fairy godmothers,

guardians of the neighborhoods,

their scepters burst,

and fleetingly they move,

among sapphire lights,

they sour the souls of the bridge,

This is Lima The Gray.