Señoras Del Bitterkas

The fancy robe, rough hands
Walking against the flow with bags caught on their fingers
Manual but it tells a story, the angels of '75
Dressed in black and flowers in their hair, with seven kids
The angels healed from fright and fear
And from husbands who never knew
Elbows worn down from
The smell of bleach from cleaning pockets so much
Phrases from buckles and harmful belts
Groping from idiots
Girl, set the table and help your mother
But get on your knees to scrub
What your father messed up
Girl who turned into a woman and now our grandmother
The story isn’t about raising the dead
The story
The story is her
Now varicose veins on chairs of
Now that you’ve forgotten the little pain
Now that no one deceives you even if you can’t read or write
Those who once wronged you should bow before you

Because you are the ladies of Bitterkas
And vinyl of Bambino, raise a glass for the fallen
The moment to breathe has come

Because you are the ladies of Bitterkas
And vinyl of Bambino, raise a glass for the fallen
The moment to breathe has come

Fan on the chest, nose like a flamenco dancer
Fingers between teeth just to avoid scolding her granddaughter
The radio blaring, the left isn’t what it used to be
But the tomatoes are good even if the pension doesn’t come

The street is yours and the best part is she knows it
How well she strolls without the soldiers checking out her ass
The street is yours and the best part is she knows it

Because she is the lady of Bitterkas
And vinyl of Bambino, raise a glass for the fallen
The moment to breathe has come

Because you are the ladies of Bitterkas
And vinyl of Bambino, raise a glass for the fallen
The moment to breathe has come

Maruja, Manuela, Juana, Dolores, and Soledad
They are
They are the ladies of Bitterkas
And vinyl of Bambino, raise a glass for the fallen
The moment to breathe has come