Trabajo Duro

At midnight I wake up with the feeling
that I've heard your voice in dreams
and an infinite sadness that traps me.
I long for you since you're not here.

I see you standing in a cage of vertigo,
raising your face bidding me goodbye.
Your silhouette staining the clouds.
I see you disappear.

A burden of centuries crushing you on your journey.
At the entrance your face is already pure coal.
Hard work,
a bitter cut.
On this day,
melancholy.

I see your father reading in the dining room.
He has prepared dinner for you.
He knows what eight hours underground are like,
he knows the body you'll bring back.

In the morning that body
takes you to hell.
And when you come out you think:
I won't go down anymore.

Hard work,
time that sours.
On this day,
melancholy.

At midnight I wake up with the feeling
that I've heard your voice in dreams