Colpeja Fort

An old man climbs a path from the town to the mountain,
And the path day by day gets shorter and more bitter,
Breathe deep and head back home.
No more foxes or wolves left,
No more mushrooms, no more wildflowers,
No fig trees or a lonely lizard.

An old man climbs a path from the town to the mountain,
And the path day by day gets shorter and more bitter,
Breathe deep and head back home.
No more lovers hiding in the corners,
No more cannabis connoisseurs either,
Now they’re working overtime to pay the mortgage.

It’s been a while since it rained,
The snails don’t graze anymore,
And now that we have to survive,
We’re unpredictable.
Hit hard.

An old man climbs a broken and crumbling path,
And the more he walks, the more he curses life,
And he swears and remembers the war.
On the dusty roads, syringes and questions,
The ravines break and the fangs disappear,
And the banks weep, the stones weep.

All the wells have filled with salt,
And the money has changed hands,
And the banks weep and the kids leave the town.

We’ve spent it all on the crops
And now we can’t water them,
And now that we have to survive,
We’re unpredictable.
Hit hard.

We’ll stay true to this town,
We’ll always stay true,
To our town.

Sifting through time, a trap for memory.
The thyme doesn’t sprout,
The desert is closing in.
Hit hard, my friend,
Hit.