La Patria Tenía Un Precio
Skaparapid
The Homeland Had a Price
Open your ears, don’t close your eyes,
what we sing here is true, we didn’t make it up,
the air is thick, the water’s brown,
the plants aren’t growing, the land’s gone dry,
now a new bridge, then a highway, and a
train that runs fast, some folks are in a hurry.
An electric line, then a dump,
a chemical plant and a new swamp.
Everything’s for sale—how nice—
everything’s bought—how sad—
everything’s about money—how nice—
everything’s dead—how sad.
Sitting in his office, given his position,
the technocrat designs, plans with
dedication, commissions, percentages, interests,
profits, straight lines and squares,
investments gone wrong, they flaunt values that
seem so flashy, love for the homeland, for
progress and all that, they’re very democratic,
well-dressed and flashy, always at gala
benefit concerts, and it’s all just data,
statistics and numbers, workplace accidents,
refugees and AIDS, and hunger in the world,
a war and its treaty, blue helmets, high
unemployment, long live the Euro.
They’re a product Made in Spain, no
bullfighter without his horn.
