Bache

Every day bored with the heat from here to there
In the park, I'm wasted, soaked in the ditch
Fire is falling and I'm just looking for a breather
I realize I'm burning, it's the pothole of my path
Pothole, when I see people
Pothole, if the fire falls on your belly
Pothole, if the fire falls on your knee
how good it is, here in the flame
everything I grab, I hide it in the branches.

I sweat, I sweat the chickpeas from the tripe
I sweat my skin and it gets darker
Summers, I spend them dreaming
or looking for parsley in San José Obrero.

It's always the same old story
always from pole to pole
recipes that are songs
that flow like a stream of water
and the pothole can be brief
or be eternal
it reopens in the hole
just like a snake.

Pothole, if the fire falls on you, pretend
Pothole, get used to the temperature
how good it is, here in the flame
everything I grab, I hide it in the branches.

I sweat, I sweat breathing pure air
I sweat, I sweat the chickpeas from the tripe
I sweat my skin and it gets darker
Summers, I spend them dreaming
or looking for parsley in San José Obrero.