De Cudillero

Down that hill coming out of the house,
he felt the cold in his bones of the clean dawn,
it lingered in his mind in the first light of dawn,
what would he do if his boat didn't go out to sea tomorrow.

Fighting for twenty years to finally get to nothing,
the lighthouse and the tides recognize his footsteps,
he barely grew up, he embarked as a game,
growing up among the sea nets, he found nothing strange.

Sailor lower the sail
for the night is calm and serene.

He senses who owes him the coin they pay him with,
he expected nothing from them because they give nothing away,
there are people who negotiate with such strange clumsiness,
as if they didn't know or were hiding other cards.

And in the end I owe nothing if there's no catch I set fire,
I go out to sea and burn up to the last rigging,
let them carry on their backs and their conscience one man less,
today, seventh of February, I seal and sign in Cudillero.