Brillo triste de un canchero

Passage to nowhere
Sunday, last station
returning from the same
window, cinema and train.
Little roofs of chalet
tanks of water, of little boat
fine drizzle in suspension
sad shine of a show-off.

Kneeling, lips in wine
kisses that belong to another.
Housewives washing clothes
at the bottom of the ocean
housewives washing clothes
at the bottom of the ocean.

Sitting, everything passes by
tthe world spins the same
with guilt and myths
with hunger and love.
Mothers are born and will be born
pacifiers will be spat out
nipple, nipple forgive me
nipple, nipple how big you are.

Kneeling, lips in wine
kisses that belong to another.
Housewives washing clothes
at the bottom of the ocean
housewives washing clothes
at the bottom of the ocean.