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I become a slave again, I wake up again
Last night left me out of gas
and that damn clock that is already starting to fight
with my time

I look at the ceiling, I look at the floor
and in the guitar I find nothing but waste
from another song

And I get up the same, just like I did yesterday
with the vein of losing joy little by little
like a rock that erodes and falls

and I run out, my time is not there anymore
It's 91 and General Paz
Now I'm an employee of the Capital
of this hell

And I reach the Center which is all protest
the excluded demands and the stinking Congress
and I just want to kick the system to another place

But today I clock in the same, just like I did yesterday
with the vein of being a minor part of this whole
that doesn't make sense to me and that encloses me badly

The day ends and in the window frame
from 60 to Constitucion
I see the rain falling furiously
emptying the streets changing our hatred's color
the early morning sees me alone at the table
watching the world on television
nothing has changed and I go back to bed
thinking that maybe tomorrow
everything will be a little less worse than today