Yo Me Bajo En Atocha

With his beret pulled down, with his silk gloves
His stranded siren, his holidays to keep
His 'come back tomorrow,' his every man for himself
His game of mus, his so-and-so

With his everything is now, with his nothing is eternal
With his rap and his chotis, with his squatter and his skinhead
Even if summer dies and winter is in a hurry
Spring knows I wait for her in Madrid

With his Velázquez autumn, with his Picasso tower
His saint and his bullfighter, his Atleti, his Bourbon
His Botero fatties, his quickie hotels
His little hash bag, his grandparents in the sun

With his snow bonfire, his fair and his duel
His July eighteenth, his April fourteenth
Halfway between heaven and hell
I get off at Atocha, I stay in Madrid

Even if the night raves like a bird in flames
Even if the Puerta de Alcalá doesn't lead to glory
Even if the naked maja charges fifteen and the bed
Even if the dressed maja won't let you kiss her

Cibeles catwalks, plaster jail
Frenchmen's bridge, Chamberí taverns
That child who dreamed of writing no longer dreams
Heart of Mary, don't leave me like this

Miracle court, Virgin of Almudena
Asbestos shanties, crystal palace
With their 'they shall not pass,' with their 'long live the chains'
Their civil cemetery, their municipal band

I've cried in Venice
I've gotten lost in Manhattan
I've grown up in Havana, I've been a pariah in Paris
Mexico torments me, Buenos Aires kills me

But there's always a train
That arrives in Madrid
But there's always a child who ages in Madrid
But there's always a car that skids in Madrid

But there's always a fire
That ignites in Madrid
But there's always a ship that sinks in Madrid

But there's always a dream
That awakens in Madrid
But there's always a return flight to Madrid