When I was like you, the old ones taught me
and also the kind and myopic teachers
that freedom or death was a redundancy,
who would you think of in a country
where the presidents walked without capanga.
That the Fatherland or the tomb was another pleonasm
since the Homeland worked well;
on the courts and in the pastures.
Really, Botija, they did not know a horn,
poor little ones believed that, freedom
it was just a sharp word
what a death, it was only serious or flat,
what jails, luckily a word esdrújula
They forgot to put the accent on the man.
The fault was not exactly theirs,
but of other harder and sinister ones
and these yes, as they skewered us
in the clean verbal republic and how idealized
the vidurria de vaca and estancieros
and how they sold us an army
that he took his mate in the barracks.
One does not always do what he wants
one can not always, that's why I'm here,
looking at you and missing you.
That's why I can not ruffle the coconut,
nor help you with the table of nine
and riddling balls.
You know well that I had to choose
other games and that I played them seriously.
And I played, for example, the thieves
and the thieves were policemen
and I played, for example, to hide and seek
if they discovered you they killed you
and I played at the spot and it was blood.
Botija, even if you are a few years old,
I think you have to tell the truth
so you do not forget it, that's why
I do not hide you that they gave me picana
that almost burst my kidneys.
All these sores, swellings and wounds
that your round eyes look hypnotized
they are very hard blows, they are boots on the face
too much pain to hide it from you,
too much torture to erase me.
But it's also good that you know
that your old man fell silent or fucked like crazy
which is a nice way to keep quiet
that your old man forgot all the numbers,
that's why I could not help you on the tables
and therefore I forgot all the phones
and the streets and the color of the eyes,
and the hair and the scars
and in what corner and in what bar,
what a stop, what a house.
And remember you,
of your little face helped me to shut up,
One thing is to die of pain
and another thing to die of shame.
So now, can you ask me
and above all I can answer.
One does not always do what he wants
but he has the right
of not doing what he does not want.
Cry no more, Botija,
they are macanas that men do not cry,
here we all cry,
we scream, we scream, we sniff, we scream,
we curse, because it is better to cry than to betray,
because it is better to cry than to betray,
cry, but do not forget
Only among all we can make this a better place :)