Vuelan Palos
La Vela Puerca
Flying Sticks
There is an act of violence
in the cold dawn,
that does not escape the conscience
of the one who hits without reason.
Sticks fly through the sky
and on the ground good people
who, terrified by fear,
are losing their hearts.
Once again the same story
and in the pages of a newspaper
appear very happy
those who did not let it be.
With sorrow in the head
and with some broken bones,
walking slowly,
today I don't face the dawn.
