A Solas Con El Mundo

The flesh covers the bone,
inside they put a brain
and sometimes also a soul.
And women throw
vases against the walls,
and men drink too much.
But they keep looking from bed to bed,
keep looking from bed to bed.
The flesh covers the bone,
and the flesh seeks something more of flesh.

There is no chance:
we are all trapped
By a singular destiny,
no one ever finds the other.
The dives fill up,
the landfills fill up,
the asylums fill up,
the hospitals fill up,
the graves fill up,
nothing else fills up,
The graves fill up,
nothing else fills up.