We’re asleep. Coma, coma, take
     the key to Roma,
because in Roma there’s a strip,
on the strip, a chalet
in the chalet, a bedroom
in the bedroom, a bed
on the bed, a woman—
a woman of want:
who takes the key,
who leaves the bed,
who leaves the room,
springs the chalet,
takes up her sword,
runs down the night,
to kill the man who passes by—
comes to his strip,
back to his home,
up to his rooms,
enters his sheets
who hides the key
who hides the blade,
remaining in complaint
     Roma without passerbys—
without death, and without night.
without a key, and without a woman. 

Author: Rafael Alberti
Translator: Manny Grimaldi