Los Pasos Del Callejón Sin Salida
Enrique Bunbury
The Steps of the Dead End Alley
The torment of the night and the torment of the day
The torment of reality and the torment of dreams
They unfold that movement that goes unnoticed
And what others could, I don’t know how, call life
Like a torture that from afar, in the dark
Thought of an eyeless beast, with a sleeping soul
Dreaming this nightmare
Like a calculated torture
To make the suffering grow, little by little and beyond
The moment it became unbearable
Forcing us to learn, a science of pain
As the only wisdom possible in the closed-off zone
The torment of reality and the torment of dreams
And my body on the rack, displaying its torture
Like a vanity, behold now a rack in the middle of the empty stage
Or my self getting ready to walk once more
The few steps that fit in the dead-end alley
Which I show as a vanity
And I will move forward, I will move my body
Without intelligence or soul
Down the street where no one knows me
I’ll wander around
Swaying and talking to myself, not seeing
That I carry a woman on my back
With her nails dug into my shoulders
And biting my neck, drunk on my blood
Drunk on my blood
The torment of the night
And the torment of the day
The torment of reality
