Marguita Del Sur

Four drunks take him to the loony bin
failed funeral once again
in the neighborhood, they lick their banners
reviving the Panama model...

Dance, dance, vodka flows, he's just passing through
but this time the dead man returned
and he felt strange in that orchestra
bored by the sound of the major sun...

Why?... that stick that kneads you
that puffs you up, that crushes you
you use it to kill...

Then when there's nothing left
no more eyes, no more hands
you want to caress it...
There's nothing... you love it
there's nothing... nothing left.

Offices preparing predators
on the radio, urging the festival
remembering for the first time a man
that people are loving more today...

With time, he went to the slammer
from a wave that keeps growing
today his face is on all the shirts
he's a dead man who keeps being born...

What is it... kamikaze of other souls
bored in their homes
they don't even dare to sing
then... they hallucinate that they plan
a hero from another land
and he comes to rescue them...

What is that? if it's not
the agenda... you build
a mask with your desires...

Amen... amen... amen....

Four drunks take them...
they take them forever...
four drunks take them...
they take them forever
they distort and soon return...