Allí Donde Alcé Mi Rabia

I continue walking the paths that my star recommends
And the footprint of my lyrical destiny deepens
Relentless pilgrim of nostalgic adventures
I soar to the heights of unfortunate souls
And in each note pressed I pulse the same bitterness

Walker of solitudes where the landscape is uncertain
Where he who slackens is dead, where he who swells suffers
There, there only the song of my instrument flourishes
There where I raised my anger to show that it existed

Where the struggle is just to survive
There my feeling of struggle and rebellion increases
In the same medina, the same hill and plain
There in the same thicket; blade or saltpeter river

Every time the vulture gets bigger while the one who sweats gets smaller
There where the dawn breaks its silence in the blow of the ax
Where the mineral is undermined with bare arms
You only drink salt in the pipe of failure

Where he who beats the earth with the plow
There where the one who fishes keeps his belly loose
There is born the anguish of official hunger
There here and where the sky blackens like a chimney

There here and wherever, where man is a tool
The bill collected in the fight is increasing
There here and wherever the earth is lap
Illusions and hopes are shattered

Faith, justice and scales turn to the side of the sunset
Where the idea ends because the table is pain
Where the flower of disbelieving youth succumbs
There begins my life as a troubadour witness

Where dying is just an unnoticed process
By law of being born a living and mortal creature
And the glory is as complete as the law of oblivion
From there I come and there I go in my daily wandering

Without mirage when looking, without concession or lie
The life I look at, look... And it's not by chance
Every trunk, every stone, every weed, every salt
If it is good or if it is bad, that is a matter of the divine.

But if it is in the way, the man must clarify it
The answer must be born and why it will be born
Every being will have to see what is their fault or right
For every step there is a distance left to travel

In the gloom of the earthquake philosophy dies
Clear as daylight responds its transparency
And the science of science still wonders
What is the first cause of the first irony?

What is the dark night eager to multiply
Where man goes to satisfy his desire for fantasy
What is the fetid orgasm that fertilizes falsehood?
Like the mother that raises it, like the milk that feeds

When man realizes it, he is already meat of his heresy
Ignorance of knowing that everything is unknown
Shameful ignorance of thinking that one does not know
Thorns and roses fit in every brain

The afternoon of my arrival at the payment the reality
I could barely tune the strings of my guitar
Because in the middle of the party there is no time to waste
I immediately realized that it was my turn

Maybe if I went out of tune I wouldn't have been warned.
But if I had lied, today I wouldn't even have a whistle left
Sing milongas and styles, sad figures and stories
For each couplet a portrait of the countryman's experience

And never sing batons of those to pass the time
Without criticizing the reasons of the one who sings for singing
I just start thinking that some pain afflicts him
And I remember the sheep when it goes in to scratch

I don't crash because of a crash, although I have some bumps
I prevent myself from squaring up, I don't live carelessly
Dog that has been beaten in a feint acts lame
Sometimes they have told me things that surprise even the most baqueano
With the cards in their hands they have made my pear tremble

It is not the same to judge from outside when you give your opinion... Paisano
From the outside everything is sweet bread, from the inside it is hard biscuit
Where sanity fails you go straight to the slaughterhouse
And I am not a calf to have my width cut

I have plenty of experience that I learned in the messes
It's not always the most clever ones who cut the ties.
There are gentle ones who fill your leather with fur in one bite.
Therefore, in those places called reality

I usually mingle with so many other singers
That without reaching doctors they diagnose the truth
I know that there are diseases that I can never cure.
But I try to explain the variety of the microbe
Cause of so much opprobrium that no one should ignore

I wish God wanted him to be a wise man in riddles
So that the son of sons with my brilliant opinion
Find a brighter future ahead
I wish God wanted it, but it seems not
On all fours if I raise my voice without other wisdom

Than to entangle misery and pain in my poetry
It is the reason for those who have suffered to be a mirror of life
Of every lost joy, of every new hope
And don't wait for it to rain to get wet in the rain

Sweetness is not rented nor pain sold
Love is not lent, tenderness is not stolen
And even if the priest gives you communion, only God gives you favors
How do you keep quiet if I have a knot in my belly?

Lest I become mute, lest I die of a heart attack
But if I help in childbirth, it won't be because I'm a guampudo.
A medallion of arrogance adorns my freedoms
And a medallion of humility, my respect as a countryman

For every hand a hand, for every truth, truths
In times of mystery, who from below fights
In times when the torch of peace is being paid
My song will burn to illuminate those who do not see

And although my verse burns its testudo content
Although the stick of my cross burns with my existence
My conscience will not serve if it does not shed its light
Guitar that accompanies me in the landscape of life

Untie me the sullen chains of comfort
And lend me the heroism of making my insides flame
Guitar that you are the end of the facón of my word
That you are the sweet moarra skewer of sorrows
Give me the beautiful sentence of being your slave

Guitar from that time I played the first song
With innocence and charm that amalgamated solitudes
I carry you in melancholic immensities of crying
Guitar that looks sad like a Lydian in the chapel

Immaculate mantilla on the altar of glory
People who raise the vertical victory of their seed
Guitar, you are the fist of a living and latent country
Rebel to the indifferent, merchant of poverty

Dignity of greatness through life or death
Guitar that in strident silence and meditation
Nailed to your tuning fork the wise reason for singing
Let my crying be the one who breaks your heart

Dark cloud after dark cloud covers the Sun of hope
With promises that are not enough, with reality that does not arrive
With hands that rub and others that never rest
Cloud after cloud that turns into stones

About the melga sown with dreams and illusions
As proletarian and forgotten passions grow
Cloud after cloud of cynicism
Relics of feudalism branched into laws

Kings who do not want kings but who reign the same
Shrouded professors raising their flags
Waiting for another wait that revalidates its swarm
While the hungry people are neither ignored nor aware

The ostrich, when it hatches, saves eggs for the flies
The charo is born and as a thread it is seen in the distribution
It is filled until it is full with the crop like coarse
But man, on the other hand, is born with classes and differences

And now from innocence one enters to see with horror
That some count on the quantum and others on the indifference
The law says that whoever cries in this fleeting life
You will surely find peace in sweet eternal life

It's the same as having legs and not being able to walk.
Touted elastic that adapts to the criteria
Sometimes it makes you serious, sometimes it makes you laugh
But no one will say beyond the cemetery

Every soul that suffers here, just ends it here
If by divine sentence everything must be forgotten
The future and the past embrace in the latrine
Pilgrim illustration of a pilgrim preaching

The rich man sings his song and the poor man sings his trouble.
That the encephalic cites the subordinate a sparrow
Nostalgia for a song that idealizes the virtues
In abysses of anxiety that intersperses with anxiety

Magnitude of what is left over in the face of vicissitudes
Free questioning of the Sun every morning
What is the reason for the vain coincidence towards the sunset?
If every day is an arm that the king of stars gives you

Because the restless other feeds his insistence on cultivating the agony of catastrophic doubt
Watered with the one who sweats coagulated with daring
Because the total schema on the almost inert face of virtue
Always strong of our organic soil?

Why is someone born with such luck denied a flight?
Because it preludes death in malnourished cordage
Starting the seed motor work
Why lives in the cage who oozes in its plumage?

Year after year makes the century, century after century, the millennium
And the log does not always heat because of its prodigious substance.
The ignorance produced by geniuses heats up more
Ignorance is material to be cheap slaves

Scattered or in herds, they are meat for the slaughterhouse.
Without tobacco or tinderbox, neither shirt nor shoe
Palenque for any scabies and corner for the chest
Arm more arm more arm, loin more loin more loin

If there is no food to eat I don't eat, if I get sick I don't pay attention
When my part of life is over
Another mouth must be born to proclaim my song
And he must embed his brokenness to the chest of the rocks
Some will cry and some will rejoice
But you only have to get to my last resting place
A couplet chewed with the desire to free itself
Because my poor skeleton will one day be
Fragrance and excitement of some prickly grass
Well, it won't be boring to continue clicking now.
There is always the opportunity and it is for man to dare
There is no path that moves even if it looks like a snake
When there is a right that exists, it is sad not to put it to the test.
If I start to describe what reason and right are
I have a lump in my chest so it's hard to match it
And if I want to keep it, bribery abounds
That's why when the bran is spread on the floor
Is it because the pig wanted it or the caretaker is a suitcase
Consciousness is not bacon but sometimes it is chorizo
Even the shortest gets bigger when reason helps him.
But it gets hairy when you fence it loose
The well-written lie is usually very courageous
Sometimes not even the bony woman gets to know the truth
But if one is, he will fight for the blows received
You must be bored with so much differentiation
Incalculable reflection that calculates what has been experienced
From having been given birth to those I count
If there's one thing that makes me happy, it's that I'm no longer asleep.
Naides gives me nothing and even the opportunity
It is something that I have even paid as a tribute
And if I remain half gross I must also pay it
Even friendship is charged no matter how much they give it to you.
If they go in or out, if they go up or down
And sometimes if they lower you they charge you what they are not worth
Eaten by the bug of the lied word
More than once life ends with its beauty
And what was once sweetness is like rotten milk
Moderate charity sometimes throws its weight and ends up being like a tickle in the belly.
After God blesses you or the devil makes you sound
No one should get tired and no one should complain about this.
With the cart up to the axle buried in the swamp
Man is like a worm galloping on a peje

Anyone who handles it has to feel important
As long as you move forward or at least don't back down
The spawn must be left as a davit board
And eager with no more vacancy than to bow the crown of the head

He has to skin his knees like a sucker
And he will always have a belly that fills his ribs
If I have erased or erased pages writing down events
Of afflicted times, of daily misfortunes

And if I have thought batons in so many lost years
If I have filled my soul with rage and restlessness
If I had to blindly test how much hope there was
Yes I would have told the taba: If you fall on your ass I will surrender
If I have tried the verija caressing the plateao

Little to eat roast, much to save my manhood
And so I made it a point not to keep entripao
Since then I learned about the power of the word
And even if the earth opens, no one will be able to tell me

How to live among lions or among goats
A man will have a hard time if he gives up his dignity.
Well, what you get at such a price usually doesn't last long.
Everything is worth if you have it, nothing is worth if you give

I will repeat until tiredness what I have already said other times
Repeating does not afflict me even if it costs me the kill
Hunger also repeats itself even if someone does not notice
Every argument is governed by escapes and crouching

Cracked shell that reveals what's inside
In every round there is a center and there are kicking rounds
The difficult thing is usually to perimeter with certainty
From erring, poverty was born but also opulence

The first is a consequence of the second: Inclemency
If by achieving patience you achieve eternity
It is easy to guess the eternal nature of misery
Patience is a serious thing when it has no end

But man ends badly when he spends that virtue
If you play the caracú to avoid failure
They iron him with a club and thus turn off the light
And making purúpupú in sententious speeches

The praiseworthy leader lies freely and without disgust
The Yankee, the Russian, the Basque, the Turk and the syringe fall
And what about the juicy roast and Marucha's stew?
What happens to those who listen to so many spent promises?

If you take the country in slippers to have a drink
What happens to the one who fights and swells like a horse?
That not even the taste of pumpkin can taste on the plate anymore
The one who goes to bed duck and wakes up with the rooster

The one who already has a callus in the middle of the heart
With the woman without underwear with the son without knitwear
The one they use when they vote, promising a lot
The one who is right when he says it's a lie

The one who has no lira, no dollar, no Pataconese, who doesn't even have enough for religion
What happens to those who die just for saying no?
When the ideals are strangled to the point of rigor
Evils that feed evils, pains that bring pain

And the one who unfortunately falls at the end of a hospital
For having been insomnia adjusting the salary
Surely it leaves several with a visit to the asylum
Skein of the skein, your tip where it will go

Who could find you to know how tall you are?
And give you through the nose what you give me in the neck
Who could restrain life and providence
Who could be conscience to hammer night and day

To erase the filth that is nourished by innocence
Head down interference that leans closer brooding
Interpelling official advises you quickly
That the thickness of the width never ends before

That the sea is ebbing and that the wind is going to stop
You have to know how to wait for a secretary to change
And so a rosary prays to me that I will never be able to swallow
And even if he tells me to sing and they give me toilet paper

I will live swallowing arsenic searching my memory
And this is how my story will remain with a schizophrenic record
And without becoming a technician I will tighten my screw
Shaping the ring of the world around me

And even if that world doesn't see, I will be your altar boy
And if the bread that gave you communion is half salty
Don't blame God or the saint who accompanies him
That, although they have their tricks, it's your fault.

The pucha that split him fiercely and open the ax blow
If to have a piece I have to buy it whole
First of all I prefer to roll than set the pace
My arm gets hard when I silence him

And if I think about backing away, the leg goes forward
With a watchful eye I can give my opinion
Sometimes I have to take care of my bones
Like someone who has a bill that they owe and that they didn't pay

But I think that the singer must sing the forty
I don't show off my mints because I was never a mint
If anyone has compared me to some prolix singer
Know that I only pay attention if I keep quiet

And just like that I say goodbye without completing my concert
I know that all this is true and what will follow
They have to silence me just by seeing me dead