Cimarrón y Tabaco

Between a mirror of sky and dew, night and morning came together for me
While the willow shed tears, filtering shadow and light over the branches
Some ruby ember in the ashes was hotly beveled in a blow
And my black turkey hen made a snort as if to give the mate a beating

An owl peeked out curiously while a lapwing filled me with cries
I threw a lasso of memories and pinned it with horns to time and its whims
The smelly skunk approached me, maybe from some love or friend
Those who break when everything breaks, those who are missing when one has lost
The memory of a mouth approached me, maybe of a kiss or punishment
But also the mouth of my old guitar approached me in relief

Night and morning came together for me without realizing I was sleeping in a dream
Wrapped in cold and distances, wrangling a life without effort
I calmed down with nothing in a fatigue of long cimarrons and tobacco
Chewing the anger of a destiny that never reached my lips
I felt very ashamed of being much and very little of being very little
Maybe I was wrong, maybe I was crazy, enclosed in sometimes I was very skilled
Sometimes I felt a little sorry for myself, I have been so alone
So alone with my bones that I talked to my own minds
Words that didn't fall from the neck
An insult got stuck in my throat without knowing why or where it was going
Bored, maybe I was a companion of my own aged hope

I was stubborn maybe, that's life, some for being slow, others for following it
The years pile up on the back waiting for tomorrow to be another day
Night and morning came together for me, cimarron and tobacco in the saliva
A willow stick between the fingers and a ruby of silence in the ashes

Without knowing why I galloped, following my cord
Caprice of feeling the sprout of a sad pampa song in the wood
Without knowing why I left my face like a Nazarene, the Sun fixed my eyes
A sweat of shame soaked me and a piece inside me bucked
Damn, I have felt tremors and cold stings on my spine
Tremendous amounts of misfortunes I found since then at every step
I became friends with the laborer, with his tasks, his love, his sorrow and joy
I walked many leagues learning what I used to see and not see before
I got a degree as a dog, without fatigue, roof or Sunday
Of course, I couldn't stand chains or collars of locals or foreigners
At the first push, I showed my fangs, not because I'm bad, but cautious
I'm a dog that doesn't sleep under the bed of a snitch, bosses or leader

Sometimes I was disoriented too
Like a wet puppy not knowing who is who
I made my best apartment on a platform
Repairing rains, winds, or at some pier
There was always a companion to make a duet of lament
Things that life has when a man is in trouble
Stepping on poop and slipping, stepping on dry and also
Hell and heaven, in a sigh it exhales
Sighs that contain everything: Submission and rebellion
Memories of joy, bad times and better ones
And at the first light of dawn, full throttle on the road
Heading to any place with a whistle between the teeth
With a monkey so prudent that it barely carries a change of clothes
And a stuttering march between sleeper and sleeper
The hope of finding a mill near the rail
To refresh the road and to herb if there is herb
Even the gentlest one gets nervous with such a destiny
And in the end, what am I looking for? Honest and decent work
Hat in hand and very smiling to reflect sympathy
And another night and another day without tasting something hot

For the poor, the road always has shadows in winter
I noted it in the notebook of my most sincere file
And no matter if it's January, July is always slower
That's why the man ends up resorting to the city
Knowing that he leaves behind the beloved shack, the homeland
He finds himself alone and lost not knowing where to go
Since he steps on the platform full of pigeons
The poor already feel that the solution has arrived
Work, bread, and a lot of illusions come together
Then comes the trick of the first thing to do
There is a friend to see who lives in Villa Palito
If he has a little place left, I'll stay to live with him
Everything must be foreseen to make it simple
Street, number, gate and a friend in abundance
In a rented room at the back of a tenement
No one can deny that one gets a little bitter

Everything that was beautiful inside the head, turns into sadness
And starts to fly low
When one brings some money, more or less, one can endure
Half and half with the cake until the capital runs out
Each one is each one, stretching or cutting
Or I look for another pigsty or I have to fight
No one is good and no one is bad, everyone has their reasons
And the hole in the mattress laughs half-heartedly
I wonder where I'm going if a few days ago
I entered this pilgrimage like a lame man in a shootout
Bald and with more walk than a police station yard
Sometimes looking for work takes time and perseverance
Long hours, early rising, waiting, queues, ages
And a thousand calamities await the laborer
The man must become a veteran in such a predicament
With the newspaper under his arm and a desire to walk
Sometimes he manages to find work, bread, or failure
And so he keeps stretching the rope of his languid existence
With infinite impotence to improve his lot
Anyone can reach who accumulates patience
And let's not talk about the malambo caused by the arrangements
Sometimes elbows with elbows, the sleeve is observed
A guy comes with a card and to hell with the humps
It's no use grumbling when the mule is done
No matter how hard the sidekick pushes, the bullets are for the dumbest
Psalms, prayers, responsories, and hail in the harvest

Many must say that I am a talkative gaucho
I know the fat man's ark feeds on the one below
I also know that from the rennet everything is done by the laborer
Sometimes the laborers are called employees
A more hierarchical name that changes according to the position
It's just an excuse but it's a documented laborer
There is always an unhappy person who still believes in the Magi
He kneels for flattery and savors the pancake
They call the exchange barter and the barter twists the homeland
I learned from the well that the well changes shape
I also adjusted to the normal norms for those who don't think
And so I got into the braid of serving as a platform

Many have jumped from the springboard of my back, I know
But I will never know the height I have lent
Instead, I have been reproached for not staying on foot
But I have also had to and it was my purest desire
To seek momentum from the ground when it was my turn to jump
And although I didn't learn to fly, I learned to look at the sky
Things that must be emphasized to avoid emphasizing the soul
The remedy that gives more calm is to shout what you feel
The fear of the most decent is indecency with palm
Are you born cunning or do you learn? I always wondered
I couldn't know the dimension of the word
And sometimes even when I speak, I wonder; what will I be?
If someone could intuit the depth of the mystery
From the idea to the iron, it bends at the first push
And even the heart itself tends to be dog meat

Nostalgia and some regret come to grab
And I swear I'm not lying if I say I cried
It took me a while to get used to the calamities of time
Some have asked me why I came to the city
Entering to advise that the countryside has a future
That there is no rush there, that life is real
When the weekend arrives, I grab my suitcase
With the shotgun on my shoulder and inside to grab something
There you really live where you see, not like here with the dribbles
They have told me such beautiful things about the countryside and its wonders
Of the cattle and the seeds, of the willow grove and the streams
That make me feel like a chicken dancing on the grill
Desk know-it-alls, counselors of knowledge
I wish I could believe that you were born from your mother
With a jargon for a bed to tell me how it was

If you have ever been watching life go by
With no promised reason other than to grow old
Piling up advice in a defeated soul
I came to the city because I felt like it
If I live like a frog splashing in the bath
It's not my fault, buddy, I'm also human
There is a famous street that serves as a division
On one side there are many, on the other side many others
On one side they sell the saint, on the other side the religion
Each one believes in the right that least harms them
Each one builds a wall for the other who is on the side
But no one is spared from the mud splashing
The man never has little if he has freedom
But one must think that the belly also counts
Because to be just bones, it is not necessary to fly
The man leaves his homeland and it is very easy to understand
He raises children and a woman, sells and buys and horse, dog, cat
Duck, rooster, ranch if he knew how to have
The man leaves his homeland tired of waiting
That someone remembers that he is also a countryman
Who has two good hands not to live begging
Yes, sure that in the village it must not be all good
But being in a foreign field without more reason than to last
Ends up bursting even the calmest genius
No one can tell me how much the landscape is missed
No one, no matter how brave, to define the human
Can think of a brother who belongs to the riffraff
You don't have to walk the roads just swallowing distances
It's not exuberant to gallop through the country in passing
Without knowing in pieces towns, mills, and ranches
When one has children at an age to be disoriented
Without anything to hold on to, without clothes or notebook
And not to mention if there is a sick person who needs to be cured
And some of those mornings when the frost whitens
Where even the toughest guy pees shaking his jaw
Ha! I would like to see the chatter of those outside
Life often mixes us in a thousand different tangles
Sometimes instinct rules, sometimes education
And sometimes the most clumsy makes us feel the belt
That's why I want to repeat what I've already said
The bug of conscience is eating me, buddy
Maybe the gravedigger is digging my grave
But that's my whim to shout with all my might

I'm going to come back so they know I'm not dead
That I'm not asleep or much less
That I don't ask for mercy or give smiles
That for many I'm little and for a few I'm a dreamer
That for everything I don't reach and yet
The more they choke me, the louder I shout
I'm going to come back with the same as many times
Entangling verses that are not prayers
That were not born for nothing, not to be silent
They were born to endure if they have to endure
Verses that are born from deep inside
From the dawn, from my encounters, from my spent nights
From my patience, from the dogs that bite in the conscience
I'm going back so they know I have a story
That hammers the chest of memories
That break their fists against oblivion
Viscosarco and perfect, hollow and empty
I'm going back to the never's no to make it always
And in the yes of all to feel what they feel
I'm going to come back and it's not much to say that I'm coming back
But it's less than little to be a little less
I'm going to come back so that those who don't have
At least a memory that reminds them
I'm going to come back so they know I'm not dead
That I'm not asleep or much less
That I don't ask for mercy or give smiles
That for many I'm little and for a few I'm a dreamer

Without a lower bed, I settled on the road
What was not enough to be left over to be my destiny
Early riser of illusions, I woke up with the morning star
He shone from above, I cast a shadow on the ground
That's why if I ever felt like chewing the bit
I don't know if it was good, I don't know if it was bad
But I know I have achieved that no one kills me in hair
Percheron for any race, sidekick in any swamp
Friend, father, and brother, monthly laborer or daily laborer
And in case you didn't know, I have a spare hand
I don't understand uncomfortable or stinging reasons
From the butt to the driver's seat, I'm flat and without railing
And neither the asshole nor the lackey takes away my courage
I've known honesty since I was a kid
If I learned to look back, I also look ahead
If I'm honest with myself, I have no reason to tremble
The truth enlarges the weakest, doubt softens the toughest
Lies send the arrangement's boss to the trash
And if there is a time for everything, there is a God for each bastard