Cerrado Por Derribo

This balm doesn't heal scars
This little rumba doesn't know how to love
This rosary of unhappy accounts
It stays silent more than it speaks
But it tells the truth

This store of sheets that don't burn
This phone without an answering machine
I'll call her tomorrow, today it got late
This cowardly way
Of not telling each other no

This with you, this without you so bitter
This hourglass of the sandy shore
This strike of kisses, this lethargy
These long pants
For old Peter Pan

This dresser without Zara panties
The Soho tour from a red bus
These eyes that don't measure or compare
Nor forget your face
Nor remember your cross

Don't abuse my inspiration
Don't accuse my heart
So battered and worn
That it's closed for demolition

Through the wrinkles of my voice
Desolation seeps
Knowing that these are
The last verses I write to you

To say goodbye to both with God
We have more than enough reasons

This paya so far from her gypsy
This prison in the Port without a view
This civil war, this one-on-one
These Moors and Christians
This Berlin Wall

This virus that neither dies nor kills us
This amnesia in the palate sky
The limousine of dust through Manhattan
Winter in Mar del Plata
The verses of the Captain

This growing old without delicacy
This back wet with muscatel
This valley of factories of sadness
This foam of certainty
This beehive without honey

This blot of blood and Chinese ink
This bath without mascara or nembutal
These bones returning from the office
Inside a trench coat
With stains of loneliness

Don't abuse my inspiration
Don't accuse my heart
So battered and worn
That it's closed for demolition

Through the wrinkles of my voice
Desolation seeps
Knowing that these are
The last verses I write to you

To say goodbye to both with God
We have more than enough reasons