Cuaderno de Bitácora

[Ayax]
Yeh, yeh
It's the logbook
Oh, Ayax and Prok
Yeh

I just rap what I see
If Goya saw you ugly, he painted you ugly
I shake it thinking about that wood watching me on the news
I indulge with dirty hands, a product of ink
1-9-9-1, it was a January month
On the 23rd, the beast was born surrounded by Pharisees
I didn't carry bread, it was a hassle under my arm
There was never peace in a lap to calm that desire
I don't replace my balls, there's no deadline for these dreams
I am the effort, the one who wields
The one who unites, the one who moves the group's ass
I don't teach, I just follow signs
I'm leaving crumbs, I'm a helping hand
Although I may get lost, so play your hand
I'm not the stars, nor the compass
I'm the black box, the logbook
I'm the record of all my hardships
The typical music that you listen to and get overwhelmed
The youth is lost, said the grandfather
Who raised all those children?, said the grandson
I've also been the dog in the manger
I've also stepped on both sides at once
I've danced with the devil with the fire of the bonfires
I've looked in the mirror and asked about Ayax

[Prok]
I have tormenting dreams, ghosts like buoys
Wandering souls in my agora
They are empty, they just cry, they torture me
Residues, fears of my doubts
Memories that fade
I have debts with me, demons on my back
Secrets that are kept, I have mine and they won't come out
They are tied up and bark, they will never know
There are many doors and I won't be there when they open
My fears will become mummies
The kingdom of shadows, in that mist like Rembrandt
In that silent rage, in that left-handed hatred
Life gives alms and many scares
I don't want coins because I'm cured of fright
It has become short like a stroke
I've pricked it like a piece, it slipped like a trace
This is a prop, to relax although it would be a setback
I'll use the other method
I don't expect a warning, fear is quick, like a fine shot
A single finger proclaiming that destiny
How arrogant humans are!
Too much ambition I see, brother
I feel their hands surrounding, tonight they are lurking
They are looking for a body for the demon, he fancies a sacrifice
Lovers of pain, sacrilege, the Antichrist
They catch you alone, they feel something and never know what they've seen