Como Los Trileros

The tablecloths are sweating under my table
If they close the curtains, I'll break the rails
And a pile driver goes up the stairs
Finer than coral for you to love me

And meanwhile, the day is drowning
The bellows resonate with the lost sight
And I put the bucket to bail out the filth

If I go uphill, you catch me
And again I put my hand on the ground
With saliva on the fingers, like the tricksters

And you take me to collect scrap metal
The kind that is lying around in your dreams
With one eye on the back, like the tricksters

If heaven keeps me on a short leash, the chusqueles bark
I buck, I get angry, I break the nets
And wall up the beach and cement the sand
If my good fortune was never so good

And the sweats sharpening pliers
For the warmth, there is no one who can untie it
And I get by without life killing me

If I go uphill, you catch me
And again I put my hand on the ground
With saliva on the fingers, like the tricksters

And you take me to collect scrap metal
The kind that is lying around in your dreams
With one eye on the back, like the tricksters

And hides the sarcasm, the snideness and the horse mackerels
If the payos, the peaks, the laws come
Spoons that keep us in the estaribel

Respect your guys and never dance for them
Water to other hands
Don't drink the seas for anyone
May the blood want to drink you
Undebel does not die for us

They shouldn't catch us off guard
And his fucking mother can hold the candles
Let them die, costaleros who want to take
Our wooden feet

Who embrace the embers without anyone seeing
That the day is wounded and the night limps and jiggles
It hurts them to see us pick up
Joy in handfuls of ten

And with it, quench the stew
That the noise of the stomach is a rattle
And naked, he falls asleep like a child
True love

That you don't need to pick the carnation petals
Neither big bills nor showing off laurels
Let them fly! Let them leave us in peace to collect
Joy in handfuls of ten

That we don't want to be so much
We want to live in our land
Cracked with crystalline springs
Go a little further than the borders
For the sublime longing for return

That we don't want to be so much
We want to be a little bit of sun and a little bit of night
We want to be wind and calm
Storm, rain and the smell of wet earth (Manolillo Chinato)