Cuadros, santos y retratos

My manager says I take too long to compose
That I need more songs, at least two per month
But I enjoy writing more with patience
Looking for good chords and better lyrics

He tells me that people don't care about that anymore
That as long as it has rhythm and rhyme, it's more than enough
That in the chorus I should write anything
That someone will miraculously find meaning

We invent simple senseless facts and stories
My literary essays, thousands of inflammatory acts
Bald and literate vultures and three cats serve dishes
And in free time, they paint paintings, saints, and portraits

In the oldest house, they made bread or fine dough
Sugar or margarine, imported flours
So many empty lives, Saturday bets
They take out chips, clubs, spades, chess, and Chinese checkers

(Chinese)

(Do you really think we'll make it with this song?)
(But if the chorus doesn't say anything)
(Nah, what are you saying?)

If I want a profitable career
We must produce disposable themes
Make people talk about my private life
Fame is fame even if it comes in the wrong way

He says he analyzes the data
That we are on the right track for a session at Biza
It makes me laugh, he thinks I move for money
When I just want to make music without hurry

We invent simple senseless facts and stories
My literary essays, thousands of inflammatory acts
Bald illiterate vultures and three cats serve dishes
And in free time, they paint paintings, saints, and portraits

In the oldest house, they made bread or fine dough
Sugar or margarine, imported flours
So many empty lives, Saturday bets
They take out chips, clubs, spades, chess, and Chinese checkers
(Ah!)

The others have skills, but nothing to say
My verses are so real, they treat me like a sir
And while Franco Escamilla elo-
(What's up? The track stopped)
(No, stop with that)
(But I'm barely halfway through the verse)
(Yes, but another verse is too much)
(Then should we leave it like this?)
(Yes)
(Okay)