Cancha de Lodo

I have tired hands
making bricks for others
my blood is mixing
with the mud of the paddock.

There are days when it seems to me
to be wading in a swamp
Looking at those big houses
that have been built with my effort.

Every fortnight that passes
a dream collapses for me
the boss doesn't hold me
but I always owe him.

When I dye myself with wine
I clean the mud inside me
watching life go by
burdened heading to town.

For months I spend days
without looking at the sky
I'm blending with the earth
I'm burying myself alive.

And to think that they take away
my sweat in the bricks
every time it's harder for me
to lift the clay mold.

Maybe it's because I'm tired
of being sunk in the ground
humid mud field
where my time is kneaded.

For months I spend days
without looking at the sky
I'm blending with the earth
I'm burying myself alive.