In our crowded and busy village of San Juanico,
There lived a neighbor whom we called Alberto;
He was not friendly, but traded talks to us though,
In refined and cultured manner without much ado.

One day while I tossed a glass of wine by the street
Juan Alberto passed; I beckoned and gave him a seat;
I was honored and told him my grieve sorrows of late
About the dear love I’ve acquired but lost so swift.

Alas! I was run with things he called glorious wisdom
That he drummed on me with claims he called science
And philosophy that I simply could not understand;
And he claimed that love was a horrible frailty of man.

Sensing I was quizzed by the depth of his mind,
My unmarried neighbor of around forty left me behind
With a typical face of a cynic; then I pursued life resigned,
While himself proceeded life still the man of his kind.

Years have come and go and I’ve found love anew;
I was deeply sad but this time I was happy I knew;
And one Sunday afternoon, my friend Juan Alberto
In his lonely home, he hanged himself with no one saw.