Mi vida, mi sweet querida

my hands scarred, they are still smooth,
each one tells a story of mine,
some from fighting nail and tooth,
some from a good time.
though my clothes, they are not new,
and my face is unkept a bit ,
my heart beats as if t'were due,
never to quit.
no mistake, i know the cold,
wind has blown, since i was born
but i was raised up to be bold,
i know where its warm
easily, i am at peace,
its not me to want like this,
but it ever refuses to cease,
i dont know what this is.

sweet sweet querida,
wont you be mi vida,
i pray to my dear god above,
beautiful senorita, be my love.