Pistolas

So much, so much, you took care of yourself and now you're, eh, confined
No one came to see you
I remember when you danced, I remember you didn’t even look
I never really understood
A neckline that ends where the fall begins
Of some fool without a net
I didn’t save you the day you went out, they argued
And the button popped and you see

Hot cement on the pink floor
The wall that made you howl like a baby
Retired from a right they cut, like a fern
The ceiling made it fall
Alone, and once again with nothing after having let you in
No way out to old age
The veins throb, of the guys and the girls
Back at it again

Guns that fire on their own
Fallen, all unknown
Batons, that hit for no reason
Death is a matter of luck

Guns (that fire on their own)
Fallen (all unknown)
Batons (that hit for no reason)
Death is a matter of luck

It’s like this, there’s nothing more to say
You’ll come out, from where you didn’t expect
Let them kill each other, let them kill each other
Let them kill each other in the great Buenos Aires
In the back part

Make your own ghetto, stay in your neighborhood
And don’t tighten Rosario’s belt
Santiago del Estero, fighting for their money
Let’s put in cops to let them kill each other
Let them kill each other
Maybe it’s not the wine