Basta para mi

Yellow from barracks the sun innocently draws down here
It illuminates the figure that comes to sit at the bar
A kid of kites, a skin of Judas, a point on the corner
with eyes of ash waits for the four fallen from the cot
who stop by with him

At dawn, loves he thought and that's what life is made of
hangover in the morning, champions of truco this time
and to mothball for a while, to stay awake before four
Martin has a sure thing, he waits smoking sitting on a bench
that is in the shell

Dirty hearts of smoke left by the city
when the day fell
Faces with the letters of a traitor sign on the forehead
If no one is willing to give a penny for what I am
and I want to laugh
It's because misery is there, misery is in the skin

He thinks the world is in the street, that he can't stay in the kitchen for a while
That the doorbell wakes him up and he goes out to the balcony to spy
That he can't be anchored like this and that a car messed up his face
That he waits for a caress that the black skin sometimes
helps you and other times does you good
He said about life: enough for me and I won't be beaten by this girl
nor to stay waiting for a miracle of honey
The plague of the night, the anxiety of the afternoon, the death of the day
Better the spring better like a man alone and smoking
no longer waiting for Martin

Dirty hearts...