El Ciruja

With anger, and checking
From the corner of his eye,
He has directed his steps
Straight to the slum.
He is guided by the feeling
That, in that little field,
There is no longer the little house
That was his only ideal.

He remembered those hours of fun
When he didn't work at all,
Just stealing, hanging out at the corner,
And getting high on the streets;
When he wasn't chased by the cops so much,
He would stab without hesitation,
A girl would whisper sweet nothings in his ear
And played with his passion.

He was a colorful character
Who played as a thief,
Daughter of a healer,
A pickpocket by trade;
But she was fooled
By a pimp from the streets
And she would give him the money
That she took from the thug.

Face to face, showing courage,
The two tough guys fought in the slum,
And the bum, who was ready for the fight,
Made the pimp pay dearly for his love.

Now, free from jail and without the girl,
Walking under the sun on the sidewalk,
He thinks for a moment about the love of his thief
And sobs in his pain.