La Isla Era Un Camalote
Buenos Muchachos
The Island Was a Driftwood
The fish swimming today seeks
The shore
He seeks to end.
But he doesn't want to be just a
Fish,
He wants to feed.
Swimming a plan that assembles
Destiny
And fear a grand finale.
But he speaks and doesn't see what
Weighs.
It's cold and I haven't finished.
Hey, fish, I tell you that destiny
Never shows us where you are.
Only your steps clarify the
Path
And there I can accompany you.
Hey fish, I want you right there
By hating you
Better to leave.
Because the flesh doesn't stop the bullets
Bullets. Flesh!
It's cold and I haven't finished.
I climb into the boat to float...
With fear of calm.
Island driftwood...sank,
Blame the sinker.
Cemetery gives...peace.
Today, you don't see
What you do,
There's never cold in the poetry
Of death.
If you go
To your altar
Never crush hearts
Driftwoods.
