El eco de las plazas

The echo of the squares, packed
with homosapiens
Who sought out records
and tapes for the daily grind
Splashing songs among
a bunch of ages
And singing the ones that come
and don’t come on the radio.
They call my head empty
because I wove ballads
with the tips of kisses
left by lovers
With goodbyes that fill
train stations and airports
With the rush that returns
a traveler who’s done.
A traveler who’s done,
a traveler who’s done.

And where I got hurt,
I want to leave signs
Something like Watch Out!:
Time-sucking path
I only learned to grow when
the pain was already too great
And a filthy puddle told me
that reflected the sky.
Like the muses always go
"free of blame"
Time is the one who drinks
up the efforts that matter
The cursed success comes with a
very violent price
Long-term masochism and a demand
for short light
Who told you not to mess up
in harmonies
And get stuck in ultra verses,
even if no one understands anything
What happens is I get bored
if I don’t pay the taxes
With which I cover the little fire
and a lot of smoke from other nonsense.

Paradigms are those singers
more genuine
Who gave birth to us among sticks,
a revolutionary art
They sang to the poor and their
most divine dreams
And the poor, kilo by kilo,
turned them into millionaires.
And passion drags me to
join the torrents
Where my light and somewhat
abstinent song doesn’t get stuck.
My commitment starts in the
smiles of the people
When, no longer naive,
the passion doesn’t fade.

It doesn’t fade,
It doesn’t fade,
It doesn’t fade.