La Cachaba
Parrita
The Cachaba
Nerves of hot silver
Roam the deserted streets
Voices shouting
Chimeras Ancient Gypsies
Drinking the air
Children crying at dawn
Junkies who remain silent
Laments of clear moon
Lights that go out
Dark alley
The cachaba, from my father
Is a ash stick
That cuts the air
The cachaba, from my father
Is a ash stick
That cuts the air
Steel and metals
In the forge they are mastered
And the bronze of the gypsies
Melts in the hands
That is a ruin
In the clock of the night
Times have stopped
And a naked dove
Tells the Moon
Give me your comfort
Nerves of hot silver
Roam the deserted streets
Voices shouting
Chimeras Ancient Gypsies
Drinking the air
What joy it would give me
That the most knowledgeable wins
And that strength was not
Reason or motive of those
Who are worthless
The cachaba, from my father
Is a ash stick
That cuts the air
The cachaba, from my father
Is a ash stick
That cuts the air
The cachaba, from my father
Is a ash stick
That cuts the air
The cachaba, from my father
Is a ash stick
That cuts the air
