El Show de Los Muertos
Charly García
The Dead Show
I got all the dead ones here
Who wants me to show them?
Some faceless, others standing
All dead forever.
Choose which one of them
You started to think about.
I got all the cries here
Like a cold drizzle
Which grimace will he tell you
His inspector's, mine.
Choose which of these deaths you started to cry about.
I grew up with home smiles
Clear skies and a green garden.
And what am I doing
Here on this hungry street.
How many times will I have to die to always be me?
And it's not the one who sleeps peacefully
And the one who unknowingly kills me
And laughs in his house
With a clean body of death
On his back.
Let the widows dance
Let the blacks from the infinite fly.
Let the apples fall here,
As the others have .
Something's wrong sir,
What's that red on your pants?
