La Balacera

I had some mate standing in the kitchen,
I saw how the sun rushed over the world.
I looked at the time, it was quarter to seven,
I was already tired of waiting.
I put on my shirt and jeans,
I tucked the revolver into the boot shaft.
I lit a candle at the feet of Saint Anthony,
Patron saint of outlaws.
I flew on the motorcycle to the bar La Cucaracha
Where the guys were waiting for me in silence.
Fernet with coke and whiskey with cigarettes,
Death smelled like tobacco and coffee.
The heist was more or less well planned,
Over two months finalizing the details.
Two of ours pressuring the cashiers
And me on the street in a rental car.
But you know how these things happen,
There are always details that escape the script,
Some employee leaning on an alarm,
Some trigger that rushes to speak.
The first shot hit my left hand,
I took the revolver from the boot and opened fire.
The police demanded my surrender,
You're surrounded, there's no way to escape.
Ten years, I replied, I've been surrounded.
Ten long years without finding a job.
What good is it to be alive if I'm dead,
I don't even need to put on a mask.
If they heard me, they didn't pay much attention,
In an instant the shootout began.
I ended up lying on the sidewalk
After emptying the magazine.
I think about this while I feel that life
Is slipping away towards death,
I have the revolver unloaded and in my chest
A hole very difficult to fill.
I have my face resting on the asphalt
My hands cold and even my breath hurts.
I know it's day but I feel it's night,
I'll ask Saint Anthony.
I have no one and I don't leave much behind,
Just a motorcycle at the bar La Cucaracha,
Tell her everything and unlock the padlock
She already knows where she'll wait for me.