Don Fermin

When the books that do not yet exist
Tell the story of this corner
They will forget, I know, about Don Fermin
That's why now I remember him better
The one who on Fridays would raid his cellar
Light his favorite pipe
And pay for the visit of a young girl
Who could be his granddaughter... but she wasn't

Old bastard they would say
The old hags when they saw him
Leaving the house dressed up for a party
Without having anywhere to go
And Don Fermin would laugh and sometimes pretend to chase them
And the old hags would run into his house without wanting to leave

When they demolish the house where he lived
And put some trendy place in its place
They will forget, I know, about Don Fermin
Because progress doesn't sing about failures
In those times when women became widows
He became a widower in the hospital of hells
And he went without speaking to anyone for so many months
That even he believed he was dead

Old bastard they would say
The old hags when they saw him
Leaving the house dressed up for a party
Without having anywhere to go
And Don Fermin would laugh and sometimes pretend to chase them
And the old hags would run into his house without wanting to leave

When they trample on the memory
As revenge for so many vacant lots
Sowing history to gain land from the river
It will be as if we had never lived
That's why I write this song for a great friend
Who is as if he were writing it to me
To annoy them with a flop
When the future becomes champion

Old bastard they would say
The old hags when he died
On the same sidewalk where he used to chase them
Now who will laugh...
??
From dying so much, necking the face
Against the sadness that dwells in the mass and doesn't let you sleep...