El Pájaro Canta Hasta Morir

From a corner of oblivion, alone in its cage…
from the very hell where it shouldn't be…
What is it that prevents you from hearing, as clear as water,
that the bird sings until death, its endless melody,
Like those luxurious things in your house…
that can never fill your existential void…
What irony of fate it is to be born with wings
and look at the sky from there… a cruel torture…

There is a thorn deeply embedded in my being,
in my left side there… where my faith beats…
It only hurts when I laugh, as if indicating that we will never be free,
while he is not, making us believe we are so important
as if the human being were the only essential thing
A selfish whim and we already justify the cause,
the misfortune of a poor animal, your poor happiness…